


Extraction

by hlwim



Series: Extraction [4]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlwim/pseuds/hlwim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing involving Shepard can ever be easy--least of all a rescue op.  AU, diverging off before ME3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extraction

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** some misogynistic slurs; clinical description of labor and birth
> 
> **Notes:** This was originally a kinkmeme fill which can be found [here](http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/4037.html?thread=12097989#t12097989).
> 
> Consider it a love letter to all my favorite wacky, less-than-realistic scifi shows (especially _Farscape_ and _Battlestar Galactica_.)
> 
> Chronologically, this fic would replace the opening of ME3. Further confusion will be fixed by the as-yet-unpublished prequels. When I get to them.

** Extraction **

Mordin's voice crackles with relief over the comm.

_“Ah, Shepard. Thought perhaps Cerberus had executed you, stripped useful tech, discarded unnecessary—no offense. Still, good to hear your voice.”_

“Yours, too, Professor. What's the situation?”

There is silence for a moment, filled by gunfire from both ends of the connection.

_“Shuttle extraction has become...problematic.”_

“Please don't tell me that,” Garrus says, popping out of cover just long enough to take down a pair of Cerberus engineers.  
“We need to move,” Jack cuts in. “This position is shit.”

_“An accurate assessment. Sending coordinates for new rendezvous.”_

“Not an option,” Garrus nearly growls, providing a burst of cover fire for Jack, who sends a wave of biotic pulses across the plaza, scattering the reinforcements. “What happened to the shuttle?”

_“Irrelevant. Sending new coordinates.”_

“It's relevant!” Jack shouts. “We can't get there! What the fuck happened to the shuttle?”

_“Cerberus more...resourceful than previously assumed.”_

“Details, Professor!”

A new voice joins the argument.

_“What's going on? Garrus, status report!”_

“We're pinned just outside the lab. Some kind of plaza. Shepard's with us, but she can't move, and she can't fight.”

_“Is she—?”_

“I'm fine, Kaidan,” she promises, tripping over the words. A wave of pain rolls from the small of her back upwards and across her abdomen. She feels the muscles of her stomach tighten and shudders. “I'm not wounded.”

“Might as well be,” Jack retorts, knocking a spent clip from her pistol. “Our status is _fucked_.”

_“Joker isn't coming,”_ Kaidan tells them. _“Cerberus overwhelmed them, and he had to jump, to draw them off. He sprung the trap a little earlier than we'd like, but we just need to stay low until he comes back. We've managed to keep a position at the southern entrance, but I don't like our chances of holding it.”_

“We've got bigger problems,” Garrus assures him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is the extent of Jack's contribution.

“You're not wrong,” Shepard says wearily, fists unclenching as the pain recedes.

_“What is it?”_

He glances at her, the quirk of one mandible betraying his slight amusement.

“Maybe you should tell him?”

She nods, bringing the comm to her lips with a hiss.

“Listen, Kaidan, I don't care why you're here or what the original plan was, but I'm in labor and I need the professor now.”

Silence again, for a longer stretch, punctuated only by Garrus's shooting.

“Two on the left,” Jack tells him, sending a blast of dark energy over her shoulder. Shepard lets out a sharp breath.

“Kaidan, please tell me you're not doing the math.”

Seven months since the Collector base, barely six since Miranda had tricked her into investigating the Overlord cell and she had fallen for it, like an idiot. Five months since Shepard realized she was pregnant and started making a shiv out of melted fibers from her shirt. She knew timing was critical, knew she was being monitored. When they came to take her to the operating theater, she cut one guard's throat and the back of the other's exposed knee. She made it halfway down the corridor before the contractions hit. She'd met up with Garrus and Jack just outside the building.

She knew immediately that it was a rescue op, that they wouldn't' be alone, but still Shepard can feel her uselessness soak through her like a shower of ice. Jack had handed her the Predator out of pity.

“Kaidan?”

_“I can't reach you from my position. But I'll try.”_

“No matter what, we _need_ to move,” Garrus points out. “We've got no cover, and too many entrances.”

_“Agreed,”_ Mordin says. _“Parameters shifted—need to compensate. Shepard, not an expert in human reproduction.”_

“You know enough, Mordin. I trust you.”

She imagines his nod of determination. She has become a puzzle to him, an open-ended equation, an experiment to run while waiting for the expected result.

“They've backed off,” Garrus says, crawling back, sidearm snapping into its slot at his hip. Jack takes the watch, peeking over the fence. “Kaidan, we got separated from Grunt and Samara about an hour ago. They went west, I think, but they haven't made contact. We're in a plaza outside the east lab, exactly where we thought she was being kept.”

“I can move.”

“We can pull back into the facility, bunker up in one of the operating theaters. We've got a few turrets I could reprogram.”

“I can move,” Shepard insists. “It's not that far yet. I had an escape plan, you know.”

Garrus's talons click around his rifle as he surveys her. She has no omnitool and can't lift the assault rifle they salvaged from a dead trooper. Cerberus's prison clothes provide no advantages—a thin unisuit composed of something stretchy and black, soft-soled boots laced up to her knees, a thick kimono belted beneath her breasts. No armor, no shields. Her homemade shiv is tucked into the top of her left boot. One hand rests on her belly, the other curled around the pistol. She glares back at him, unwavering.

“I'm not dying here, and I'm not giving birth in a bush. Just get me a terminal, and I can hack us a way out.”

“Shepard, I can't protect you like this.”

Jack shifts uncomfortably.

“I can.”

She drums her fingers across the barrel of her shotgun.

“A small— _small_ —barrier wall. Like Samara did on the Collector base. If we stay low, move slowly—”

“That won't be a problem,” Garrus laughs.

“I won't keep it up for long, and I can't take a lot of direct hits. But I can do it.”

There's no time for argument—the clatter of boots to their left heralds reinforcements.

“Garrus, take point,” Shepard says. “There's a maintenance outbuilding two blocks to our east. I can get into the system from there.”

No time to question her knowledge, either, as she's suddenly on her feet, padding silently into the alleyway. Garrus easily overtakes her, carapace prickling with static energy as Jack charges up.

“This isn't a city,” Shepard whispers. “Everyone's indoctrinated. They've been moving me around a lot, but I memorized the schematics.”

“How?”

“They weren't very thorough in their first few searches,” Shepard says. Garrus glances back in time to see her grin melt. He stops Jack with a gesture as Shepard doubles over, holding her stomach.

“Are you okay?”

“Just something we do,” she bites out. “Give me a second.”

They stop every ten minutes after that. Jack keeps the barrier steady, and they're lucky enough to avoid any patrols. Sounds of fighting ricochet through the alley as Shepard continues her whispered story, relating the circumstances of her capture. They have no comment until she mentions Miranda.

“Knew we shouldn't trust the cheerleader,” Jack grunts as Shepard slides down a nearby wall. “Stupid bitch.”

“I _know_.”

The biotic smirks, flexing her fingers.

“I didn't mean you.”

Garrus occupies himself with his scope, studying the walls and windows of the surrounding buildings. Shepard stifles a whimper of pain behind him, and the sights tremble momentarily. Satisfied of their seclusion, he retreats to the dumpsters Shepard and Jack are crouching between.

“We're clear,” he says. “I'll go around and hack the door. Jack, stay here. Keep the barrier up. Try to get Kaidan or Mordin on the comm.”

“No,” Shepard gasps out. “You need someone watching your back.”

“I'll be fine. You won't.”

“You'll be completely exposed!”

He doesn't need to restate his argument. Jack tenses for another power draw, but Shepard gives in.

“Come here,” she sighs. “Let me see your omnitool.”

She twists his arm a little more than necessary, rapidly entering code, and finishes with a reassuring squeeze of his fingers.

“Stay in cover, Shepard.”

“Good luck.”

He slides around the side of the building slowly. The street is empty, but he can't see much past three blocks. The walls and sidewalks are pristine, as sterile and white as the lab where they'd found Shepard. The console reacts to his proximity. One last quick look and Garrus crouches, calling up Shepard's new code.

The clatter of gunfire has disappeared, replaced by that uneasy silence of a battle only half over. They'd had a decent plan, but as Thane observed during the briefing, no plan would survive contact with the enemy. Seven strike teams, composed of the remnants of Shepard's suicide squad, Kaidan's marines, and Kirrahe's old team, dropped just after dawn while the Normandy and a small wing of Alliance fighters strafed over the colony's guns. Get in, grab Shepard, get out.

Garrus watches the code rolling past, tapping in a new sequence as the Cerberus firewall adapts. There is no use regretting missteps. Mordin was right. Mission parameters had changed, and he must accept and compensate. No extraction, no rendezvous, no badass Commander Shepard to charge out guns blazing. He didn't mind the unfamiliar role of protector—half of him had expected nothing more than a corpse—but she could be so stupidly stubborn.

First parameter, then: keep Shepard alive.

He has no time for a second parameter—the unmistakable click of an ejecting thermal clip snaps him out of his thoughts. Then the footsteps of three troopers, stopping a few meters behind him.

“Hands up, turian,” one orders, his voice metallic and empty. Garrus won't be quick enough to reach his sidearm. His omnitool is still occupied with the hack. “ _Now_.”

He takes a breath, ten seconds of silence to consider his lack of options. Too slow—six rapid shots ring out, and he flinches. There's a momentary numbness, and then the crash of three armored bodies hitting the ground. In an instant, he is on his feet, rifle at the ready.

Shepard grins over the barrel of her pistol, body wavering behind Jack's barrier.

“I told you to stay in cover!” he sputters, furious and relieved. The hack is complete. He hears the door slide open as Shepard chambers a new clip.

“I'm pregnant, Garrus,” she says, breezing through the door with Jack in tow, “not incapacitated.”

He locks them in with a sigh.

“There should be biotic rations over there.”

Shepard gestures left, pawing through an open locker. The maintenance building is more of a warehouse, a maze of crates which form clusters and cubicles.

“Stock up,” she advises, slipping on a Cerberus omnitool. “I need some time.”

Garrus does a quick sweep of the perimeter: no windows, one door. The munitions crates are solid and heavy, weapons and armor packed tight. Piles of thermal clips and grenades, medkits lining the wall.

“It's a fucking buffet!” Jack declares, ripping the package off an energy bar with her teeth.

“It's defensible,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Shepard replies, levering a panel off the wall. “A rat trap. We're not staying.”

Jack licks her fingers and whips out her shotgun for a quick cleaning.

“Fine,” Garrus says. “What are you doing?”

“I need updated schematics of the base. They've been building constantly since I arrived. They're near battalion strength. What the hell were you thinking, coming after me?”

“We _had_ a plan, you know.”

She grins at him.

“The usual, right? Sneak in the back and hope you have more bullets than they have bad guys?”

“The usual,” he agrees. “You need me?”

“Always.”

Jack laughs.

“Watch your ass, Vakarian. Pregnant humans'll fuck anything that stands still long enough.”

_“Inaccurate, according to EDI's download.”_

“Mordin?”

_“Forgive abrupt silence. Ran into small patrol. Gone now—allowed download to finish. Confident now in assisting Shepard.”_

“Glad to hear it,” Garrus replies. Shepard has gone quiet again, wracked by pain. He needs a distraction. “Who's with you?”

_“Thane. Tali. Three marines. Thought Kasumi nearby. Lost contact with Majors Alenko and Kirrahe.”_

“Position?”

_“Uncertain. Need to speak to Shepard.”_

“Fuck,” Shepard groans in response.

_“Ah, Shepard. Contractions appear steady. Cervical status?”_

Her eyes flicker to Garrus, who obediently turns to a crate of armor.

“I, um, don't know.”

_“Simple manual test to check—”_

Shepard's voice becomes an embarrassed hiss.

“I can't...bend that way.”

_“Perhaps assistance—”_

“Hell no!” Jack interjects. Garrus's mouth flaps open and closed.

“I have talons! I'll puncture the baby's head! Besides, you have one of—”

He gestures at Shepard's crotch.

“One of _those_ , don't you?”

“Doesn't mean I know how it works!”

Jack twitches like a cornered animal, baring her teeth in a snarl.

“Fine!” she snaps. “I'll do it, and we'll never mention it again!”

“Deal,” Shepard says. They turn to him as one and stare.

“Right,” Garrus mutters. “I'll just be behind the crates.”

He occupies his hands in field-stripping a Cerberus chest-plate, but it's difficult to ignore the noises coming from the back of the warehouse: Shepard's pained grunts, the slide of her unisuit's zipper, Jack's ragged breathing.

“Never...let anyone get this far,” Shepard gasps, “without buying me dinner first.”

“Sorry,” Jack whispers furiously. “Stop moving.”

He chances one peek. Shepard is seated against the wall, Jack between her spread knees. Her hands grip the biotic's shoulders, twisted into the leather jacket, her face closed in discomfort. Neither woman looks at the other.

_“Cervix the internal terminus of the vagina—should feel similar to the fleshy tip of human nose. Estimate dilation with finger width.”_

“This is the most awkward moment of my life.”

Garrus ducks down again. Less than a minute later, Jack is stalking past, pouring the contents of her canteen onto her left hand, growling.

“I am not paid enough to shove my hand up her cunt!”

_“Please tell me there are pictures.”_

“Joker?”

The sound of a zipper, and Jack shudders.

_“In the cloaked flesh. Sort of. Great to hear your voice, Commander.”_

_“Joker, chance of extraction?”_

_“Not an option yet,”_ Joker says. _“The fighting's still too hot up here. Stealth systems engaged, close enough for EDI, but I can't get down to you.”_

Shepard joins them from around the crates, adjusting the belt of her kimono.

“Then the plan's the same. We find some place to hole up until you can get us out.”

_“Roger that. We'll maintain orbit and radio silence.”_

_“Jack. Require update on cervical dilation.”_

Garrus can imagine Jokers's expression and only hopes his own is unreadable. Jack shudders again, gauging the size of three fingers.

“Um. Four centimeters?”

_“Contractions, duration and spacing?”_

“They last a few minutes,” Shepard says. “Ten minutes apart.”

A crack of static nearly deafens them.

“Sorry,” Shepard winces, rubbing her ear. “That was me.”

_“Shepard? Garrus? Someone please respond.”_

“We're here, Kaidan,” Shepard says immediately, relief pulling a smile across her lips. “I flooded Cerberus's communications with white noise and feedback. We might be able to hear them, but they won't hear us.”

_“Would still recommend radio silence.”_

_“Agreed,”_ Kaidan says. _“Where are you now?”_

Shepard calls up a holo of the base on her stolen omnitool.

“Far east edge of the city. Maintenance Building E9, right up against the wall. You still at the gate?”

_“That's two klicks from your position. You should hold for reinforcements.”_

“What reinforcements?” she asks. “We can get to you. I have a plan.”

_“Your plans are terrible, Shepard.”_

She balks.

“They are not. I just disrupted communications with a virus, and I can hack security to scramble _their_ reinforcements. The south gate is farthest from control, and it'll be an easier point of extraction for the shuttles.”

Kaidan does little to disguise the suspicion.

_“How do you know all this? How did you even get in their system?”_

“Because I'm a goddamn genius!” Shepard snaps. “I had a lot of time to think in here.”

_“Right. Sorry,”_ he sighs. _“We're bunkered down, and they seem to be thinning out. But the three of you don't have a chance, even flanking.”_

_“We can remedy that,”_ Tali interjects. _“You said Building E9? We're not far. ETA twenty minutes, maybe.”_

So they gather up what supplies they can, stuffing sleeves and pockets with clips and medi-gel. Garrus slips a jury-rigged shield harness over Shepard's shoulders.

“I hate every single part of this,” he reminds her, taking position at the door. She's found a bag and is filling it with more biotic rations.

“Join the club,” she says grimly. “We have jackets.”

The next twenty minutes are agonizing. Shepard has three more contractions, during which Garrus programs a quick password lock for Tali to hack. Shepard's still doubled over, Jack awkwardly patting her back, when the console begins to buzz.

“Get her back,” he orders.

“C'mon, Shep. I've got you. Just don't break my hand.”

No time to be worried about the commander's lack of response: the console blinks red to green.

_“Garrus, check your fire. I'm coming in first, with Thane.”_

“Acknowledged.”

They look worn down, chipped by small arms fire, grimy with sweat. Tali's hood is torn, and she jumps into his arms.

“Dextro-chocolate recipe?” she whispers, resting her hands on his hips. “Giving me a hint, Vakarian?”

“What _ever_ could you be talking about?” he purrs.

There's hardly time for the newcomers to restock before they're all spilling back into the street. They form a circle around Shepard and Mordin, with Tali and Jack and the human lieutenant on point, Thane and Garrus and the other two marines watching their backs. Through somewhat stifled groans, Shepard guides them south.

_“No idea how many,”_ Kaidan tells them. _“It's like they're just coming in staggered waves, or holding back.”_

They chase the sunset through empty streets, to another maintenance building. Shepard collapses halfway through the hack, so Tali finishes.

“Fuck, this hurts,” Shepard hisses as Mordin helps her inside. His hands ghost over hers, fluttering across her abdomen.

“Fascinating,” he mutters. “Contractions at seven minutes, Shepard. Need to check cervix.”

“Not it,” Jack snaps automatically.

“Not asking,” Mordin grins. Shepard straightens up and knocks his hands away.

“I'm fine,” she bites out. “We're almost there.”

She summons the schematics again.

“She looks unwell,” Thane says quietly, at Garrus's elbow.

“The south gatehouse faces a empty plaza, a quarter kilometer square,” Shepard says, manipulating the holo to demonstrate. “From here, there's two paths we can take, which means two paths they've bunkered up.”

She tries to smile at Tali and Garrus. Her skin looks paper-thin, shiny with sweat.

“Just like Haestrom. We'll hit their back ranks, thin them up. Lieutenant, you know how to use that sniper rifle?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replies, a little too quickly.

“You, Garrus, Thane, you'll give us cover as we push in. Two teams of three, one up each street. We hit hard, fast, and close, and then run like hell for the gatehouse.”

Garrus glances around at the blank faces, squares his shoulders, and speaks.

“No.”

“What?”

“Shepard, you're not going into the street.”

She stiffens visibly at the insubordination.

“Garrus, I'm best at mid-range!”

“And I'm best twenty meters up and a hundred back, but I'm not leaving your side.”

“With the shield, and Jack's barrier—”

“You won't last two minutes,” he says slowly, deliberately, each word hammering down his fury. “I let you drag us away from the lab, out of that warehouse, down to this kill box—”

“We had to reach the gate! The objective is to link up with Kaidan and his marines—”

“ _You_ are the objective, Shepard!” Garrus explodes, startling the humans. The lieutenant opens his mouth but is quickly silenced by a look from Tali. “What about that is so difficult to understand?”

Shepard's hands close defensively over her belly.

“Nothing matters but getting you off this planet. That's why we're here! Why Kaidan's here!”

“This isn't what you signed up for,” she says weakly, and the rest of the argument is silent. He has won and knows it, and so does she—everything now is only adjustment. She folds over another contraction, and Thane places a gentle hand on her back.

“Siha, please.”

“Okay,” she gasps. “Okay. I'll stay with Garrus.”

The plan remains otherwise the same: two teams of three backed by one sniper each, sweeping the streets clear to the plaza. Mordin is reluctant to leave Shepard under Garrus's care, linking all three omnitools.

“Excellent,” he mutters, meaning the opposite. “Will provide ground support, monitor vitals, await inevitable parameter shift—”

“We're almost there, Professor,” Shepard promises.

“ _Almost_ ,” Mordin repeats, flickering his eyelids in irritation.

It's twilight still, as the last dredges of sunlight bleed away, painting the building tops bright red. Garrus pushes Shepard onto a balcony three meters off the street.

“Fuck, you're heavier.”

“Barely fifteen kilos! Use some muscle.”

“Couldn't even it out, either. All up front,” he grunts, scrambling up after. “Not like turians. Humans have to _expand_ , grow the whole damn kid inside.”

She helps unfold his rifle and then braces herself against the wall behind.

_“I am in position, Garrus.”_

_“Us, too,”_ Tali says.

“We're ready. Kaidan?”

_“Thane updated me. I don't like this, Garrus. I'm reading forty, forty-five. We can lay down some cover fire, keep them out of the plaza. Take your time.”_

“No rush,” Shepard agrees, voice strained. She's laying out a row of thermal clips at his side, perfect distance to snatch and quickly swap.

“Maybe you should focus on breathing.”

He can't keep looking at her, the hollowed eyes and the tight, terrified line of her mouth. He drops onto his stomach and peers through the scope. The gate's too far for his VI to estimate, but he can make out the small blue ovals of the Alliance's helmets. No wind, and the sun is angled across the field. He lowers the barrel slowly, sweeping over hedges and a maze of waist-high fences, down to where Tali is crouched, just beginning to signal the marines forward.

_“Jane, are you alright?”_

She doesn't answer, dropping the last clip suddenly and scattering the rest.

“Garrus, look!”

He uses the scope—an immediate mistake. The last ray of sunlight hits a window and bounces right into his eye, blinding him. In the half-second of his eyelids closing, the first bomb falls.

_“Fall back! Repeat, fall—”_

A second bomb reduces the signal to deafening static. Shepard cries out, the ground starts to shake, and Garrus snaps to his feet, hastily stowing the rifle.

“We need to move!” he says, dropping off the balcony. Shepard falls into his waiting arms. Another bomb, and another, and the whistle of the shuttles overhead—no time to turn and see if anyone is following, or do much more than grab Shepard's arm and yank her along.

“I can't! I can't!”

She's screaming in his ear, not fighting but dragging, exhausted body unable to follow her desperate commands. He pauses just long enough to pick her up, one arm around her back, the other hooked beneath her knees, and then he runs.

When he was sixteen years old, he received his first posting off Palaven, at a small research outpost on a tectonically unstable world. He'd liked it at first, everything empty and unexplored, flat plains stretched beneath ragged mountains, just as hot and dry as home. And then the rain came.

Nine straight days of downpour, and they discovered that their plateau was in fact a peninsula. Where once tiny vibrations beneath his boots announced an exciting change in the landscape, a new series of hills and valleys to patrol, now the horizon coiled and curled like a sinister worm. Protection became evacuation, watching the solemn march of crates and personnel into waiting shuttles.

On the last day, he stood at the edge of the landing pad, each undulation of the rising water sucking at his feet, and he looked up. He heard rather than felt the last violent tremor as he stepped backwards onto the shuttle. The water buckled and then swelled, rising slowly. The shuttle was in the air long before the wave hit, but Garrus was riveted by the silent, furious wall of water bearing down on him, on the empty compound, a serpent rearing back to strike.

A ruthless tongue of heat licks across the back of his neck, and he shudders. He is back in the street, cradling Shepard to his chest, outrunning the shockwave of Cerberus's bombs. He's deafened by the crash of collapsing buildings, the steady roar of fire consuming the base behind them. Every impact of his boots to the ground draws a cry of pain from Shepard.

“Don't stop,” she begs. “Don't look back.”

He doesn't, and tries hard to banish any thoughts of Tali. His lungs burn with the effort, throat closing around each choked breath, blood pounding in his ears. It's not enough—already the smoke is overtaking him. Shepard grows heavier in his arms, weaker.

The alley lurches before his eyes, and he stumbles. Nothing is familiar except the tide pull of destruction at his heels.

“I have to...I have to—”

A final blast rocks them, the concussive force slamming into his back like a slab of steel. He manages to twist around a corner before he falls, face-first, trying to shield Shepard's limp body with his own. She sobs desperately, closing her hands over his exposed neck.

It is suddenly over. Dust drifts silently around them, blanketing his arms and shoulders. There is only her breath against his face and one mournful whisper:

“Kaidan.”

He rests his forehead against hers, as his visor's night vision kicks in automatically. She looks worse glowing green, dirty cheeks tracked with tears.

“It's okay,” he promises, pointlessly. “Shepard, listen to me. It's over. It's over now.”

“Stop lying, Garrus,” she orders with a sharp intake of breath. “You're terrible at it.”

She softens it with a sad half-smile.

“Are you hurt?”

“No more than before. You?”

“No. Can't really tell.”

Her fingers slowly unclench, falling from his neck to her face. She struggles to compose herself, her back bent over rubble, hips twisted to the left, knees drawn to her belly, as she fights the instinct to shift around. Garrus does his best, weight braced on his hands and knees, spine arched against the settling debris. A small trickle of blood escapes a crack on his forehead.

She closes her eyes, focusing on the easy rhythm of inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale. Her voice, when she speaks, is quiet and far away.

“I lost my earpiece. Do you still have your comm?”

“Yeah,” he pants. “I'll try.”

As Garrus whispers their friends' names past her ear, Shepard begins to close herself off, making pain an enemy she must exterminate block by block. First her fingers, her bloody-bitten nails, then her hands with dry skin stretched tight over her knuckles, to her elbows and arms covered in small burns and shallow cuts, up to her eternally sore shoulder. Then her swollen feet and ankles, the tiny cut under her left kneecap where the shiv digs in, the screaming muscles of her thighs and calves, still twitching from overexertion.

Years of combat trauma have trained her to ignore pain, sublimate it, seek out what might be hiding beneath numbed nerves and the frenetic rush of adrenaline. She knows the worst injuries are sometimes not felt at first, and she pulls in the deepest breath she can manage. She can feel every slow, thundering beat of her heart, her throat burning with each lungful of the smoky air. She imagines arranging herself into a crate, packing away fear and confusion, folding anger over, letting pain soak in and fill the remaining space.

It almost works. She feels herself floating away on a current: free, quiet, controlled. All of this is happening to someone else, she thinks, when she's suddenly pulled under, seized at the middle and yanked beneath the water.

“That looked painful,” Garrus says softly. He's freed one hand and brushes the hair off her face. “Are they getting closer?”

“Y...yeah,” she replies, blinking away tears. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to check my cervix?”

He chuckles.

“That won't be necessary,” he says. “I've got Mordin. He's still linked to our omnitools. They're following the signal.”

“They?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask. Should be here soon, though. You could probably close your eyes again, if you want.”

She does, and falls into a dreamless sort of half-sleep, conscious only of each contraction and Garrus's hand gently stroking her face. Seven minutes, then six, then five, when she feels Garrus pull away. She opens her eyes to starlight peeking through smoke and Grunt, regarding her with bemusement.

“Battlemaster. You look...”

He considers, blinking one reptilian eye.

“Awful.”

“Great to see you, too,” she says, allowing herself to be lifted free by Grunt and Garrus, who looks worse in the light. He winces as they deposit her on a relatively flat pile of debris.

“I'm fine,” he assures her. “Just a little sore.”

“Maybe it's someone else's turn,” she suggests, briefly surveying the assembled group. Grunt retrieves her bag of rations and tosses it to Samara, who supports a drained and pale Jack with Thane. Shepard makes out the silhouette of four marines at the mouth of the alley, quickly jumping out of Mordin's way as he fires past. He ignores everything except Shepard, muttering furiously.

“I'm sorry, Professor,” she whispers while he brushes her hands away from her belly. The scar of his missing cranial horn has split open, and she wipes carefully at the blood oozing towards his eye.

“Cooperate and all forgiven,” he replies brightly. “Contractions at five minutes, yes?”

She nods.

“Active phase. Expected. Recommend resist urge to push.”

They set out, slowly, with Shepard cradled in Grunt's arms and trailed by Mordin. It's impossible for her to tell where they are, but Samara guides them confidently through the rubble.

“Also recommend rest, Shepard,” Mordin says, fiddling with his omnitool. “Will wake you, if necessary.”

It isn't easy, but sleep pulls her under at last, exhaustion somehow winning out over the intense, rhythmic pain rolling from her back. Another half-sleep, but filled this time with sights and sounds that make her sick.

She's in her mother's old quarters on Arcturus, a little girl with her nose pressed to the glass. She's lying naked in her bed on Intai'sei, curled into Kaidan's chest and watching him sleep. She's lounging in his Citadel apartment, holding his hand to her belly, chasing their baby's fluttering kick across her bare skin.

“It's almost time,” he whispers, running his fingers through her hair. “You're doing great.”

Fantasies constructed out of necessity, meant to shield her from the claustrophobia of captivity. How easily she could lean away from Miranda, summoning his smile, the spark of his warm brown eyes, the husky cadence of his voice, the brush of his lips against her throat. Empty of comfort now, however, as the sour taste of bile rises in her mouth.

Kaidan hands her a bundle of blankets, eyes black and hollow. She peels back the corner covering the baby's face—only more layers of cloth, her fingers tearing violently at where her child's face should be, but there's nothing, nothing beneath. She swallows a scream and wakes abruptly when Grunt sets her behind a wall.

“Patrol,” he growls. “Stay down—I'm going to fight.”

She has no argument and neither does Jack, who slides bonelessly down beside her. She's still pale, but her eyes are clear now, and she quickly devours another ration bar.

“Are you okay?”

Jack smirks.

“Don't you have other worries right now, princess?”

“Not for—”

Shepard can't speak through the pain anymore, gasping, eyes squeezed shut. She feels Jack's fingers thread through hers, and the tingle of her barrier enveloping them.

“Just...um, breathe?”

She wants to laugh, and tries to let the sudden burst of gunfire distract her. Jack rubs both of her hands over Shepard's.

“Like we're back at the beginning, huh?”

Jack's addressing someone on their far side—Garrus, she sees, when the contraction has passed and she can open her eyes again.

“Someone has to keep an eye on you two,” he says with an amused shrug. He pulls a cloth bandage from a pocket in his armor, wetting it with what's left in Jack's canteen, and wipes it across Shepard's brow. She smiles unsteadily at him.

“I'm okay,” she whispers. “You?”

“I'm okay.”

Her reply is drowned by a buzz in his earpiece.

_“Check, check. Anyone on this frequency?”_

A coil of heat rises in Garrus's stomach.

“That son-of-a-bitch,” Jack snarls. “He's here, too?”

_“Repeat. This is Jacob Taylor. Are there any Alliance troops in the area?”_

Jack jumps with unexpected speed to her feet, still gripping Shepard's hand.

“We've got to move,” she says firmly.

“What? Are you kidding?”

“Where the hell are we going?” Shepard asks, curling around the contraction. “Grunt said to stay here.”

“If he's in transmission range, he's too close.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Jacob's here.”

The name conjures ugly memories: an orange hand rising from her chest and squeezing her throat, green tiles splintering beneath her boots, the quiet corpse of a boy swinging from a server node. Atlas, dark and choked with bodies, pockmarked by gunfire, soot-blackened, bloody—the last thing she remembers before waking up in a sterile Cerberus lab, restrained, faced by Miranda's silence.

Garrus leans forward to touch her cheek, snapping her eyes back to his.

“I don't know,” she says haltingly. “I haven't seen him since Aite.”

“Fuck, we're exposed. He could have a squad.”

Jack tugs at Shepard's hand, who tugs back sharply, unbalancing her.

“We're in cover. And the others will come back soon. You hear any shooting?”

“No contact, though,” Jack hisses. “We're sitting in a kill box.”

The fight's irrelevant, as Mordin suddenly comes skittering over the wall.

“Not a patrol. Six troopers, caught in the blast, like us.”

He casts Garrus a sympathetic glance.

“No sign of missing squad members. Still, could have been found by others. Samara assures me courtyard not far.”

She appears around a corner, followed by Grunt and the marines.

“Ran into an old friend,” Grunt says with a malicious grin, tossing Jacob to the ground at their feet.

“Shepard—”

“You don't get to talk to her, shithead,” Jack snarls, aiming a kick at his right knee. Shepard collapses helplessly inward, muttering.

“I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.”

Garrus exchanges a brief look with Mordin.

“Search for weapons,” he says, rising. “Take his amp. Bind his hands. I'll take point.”

Setting out again, they aren't gentle with Jacob, circling him with the marines, stabbing his sides with the barrel of a rifle when he turns to speak to Shepard.

“I can't believe it's true,” he says. “I thought Miranda was joking—I didn't even know you were here until today.”

“What did I say about talking to her?” Jack says, landing the kick this time. “Operation Silence, asshole—I'll cut out your fucking tongue!”

So he twists around, speeds up, focusing his efforts elsewhere.

“Garrus, I swear, I'm not with them.”

“Still wearing the uniform,” he observes neutrally.

“I know how this looks. Ask Alenko, okay? He knows.”

“That'll be difficult,” Jack says coldly. “Kaidan was at the south gate. Now shut the fuck up.”

The smoke stops abruptly at the edge of the rubble, and they stumble onto an immaculate street. Garrus sends everyone back into the half-burnt shell of a building, and scouts ahead with Thane.

The power grid's taken a hit, external lights reduced to a sinister red glow, visibility less than fifty meters. Garrus recognizes the area from the briefing: one of the Alliance's drop points, assumed to be residential housing for Cerberus officers. A row of identical prefab houses marches down manicured lawns, the same three trees behind each, damming the swell of destruction.

“A perfect line of demarcation,” Thane says, tracing it with a sweep of his arm. They walk the perimeter of one empty house, studying the scorched back wall.

“Look at the blast marks.”

“Those are not impact craters.”

“Charges,” Garrus agrees. “Why, though? And where are all the troopers? Shepard said they were near battalion strength. Why haven't we run into more?”

“Perhaps they wish to preserve her,” Thane muses. “She represents a significant investment. They captured her on Aite, rather than killing her immediately.”

“So they're herding us.”

Acknowledging the situation does nothing to change it, but it's confirmed seconds later by a flash of gold light and a brief crackle of music. A combat drone glides out of the rubble and stops before them. Garrus can't help the smile.

“ _Fleet & Flotilla_, Tali? Not exactly subtle.”

“What _ever_ could you be talking about?”

She tumbles into them, dropping down from what's left of a second-story balcony, followed shortly by the two marines. Her faceplate is cracked, and they're all covered in dust.

“I'm okay,” she whispers, pressing herself into Garrus's arms. He brushes a gentle finger over the hole in her exosuit, marveling at the creamy grey expanse of skin revealed. “Garrus, I'm alright. The section seals are holding.”

They let Chiktikka lead the way back. Grunt is pacing anxiously at the perimeter and intercepts them.

“Mordin says it's not long now,” he reports. “But we're close to the courtyard. Any movement?”

“None,” Garrus says. No one takes it as a good sign.

Shepard is nearly insensate with pain and soaked in sweat. Mordin has removed her belt and kimono, the drained shield harness cast aside, and her unisuit is unzipped down to her hips, exposing a white tank top beneath. She releases a quiet sob when Grunt lifts her.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Not your fault,” Mordin assures him.

The rest of the trek is alarmingly uneventful, with Garrus on point and the marines watching their back.

“Check your fire. We approach from the southwest.”

_“Understood, justicar.”_

In teams of three, they slip across an empty street and through a battered set of doors. Garrus follows Grunt, nervously sweeping the rooftops with his scope. Shepard, momentarily between contractions, raises her head as they enter.

“Is there anyone you _didn't_ bring?”

“Cerberus canceled the check,” Zaeed says with a shrug, leading them past rows of gawking marines. “I'm just here to collect what's owed me.”

The courtyard stretches for almost a quarter kilometer, larger than Garrus had expected, enclosed on all sides by solid walls of steel and stone. No bombs ever reached this deep in the facility: the second-story balcony ringing the courtyard is intact, apparently inaccessible but for a rickety ladder against the western wall. The main doors stretch to the ceiling, pockmarked by heavy weapons fire but still serviceable. They entered on the south and now face north, towards the massive facade of the central control building.

“EDI's got it locked down,” Zaeed assures him. “Trying to get our communications back up. We've got short-range, but no word yet on Joker.”

“Since the bombing?”

Zaeed nods.

“Go see what's keeping the professor, will you?”

Grunt sets Shepard behind some ammo crates and steps back awkwardly.

“Shore up the front,” Garrus tells him. “And set a watch on Jacob.”

“Yes, sir.”

Garrus requisitions a passing marine's canteen and crouches beside Shepard, who is grinning at him.

“ _Sir_?” she mocks. “Who died and put you in charge?”

“You did,” he laughs, offering the water. “Doing okay?”

She drops the canteen halfway through a sip, curling around her belly as though trying to make a smaller target for pain.

“Mordin—find Mordin!”

He's reluctant to leave her until Jack appears.

“I'm not volunteering to catch or anything,” she says. “Professor's with the traitor.”

He nods, and forces himself to march away, snapping off salutes inattentively. The troop count is unimpressive—twenty marines, five or six salarians, the suicide squad. Zaeed and Kirrahe have placed their men at almost even intervals on either side of the doors, creating a half-circle of concentrated fire. Snipers dot the balcony. No heavy weapons. No air support.

He finds Mordin with Jacob, sequestered into an alcove formed by intersecting hedges. Zaeed stands at the entrance, blowing across his bloodied knuckles.

“Said the magic word,” he shrugs. “It's a great story, Vakarian. Pull up a chair.”

Mordin applies medi-gel to a fresh cut across Jacob's cheek.

“Don't waste it,” Garrus warns.

“Of course not,” Mordin returns, standing and gathering his supplies. “Shepard near building?”

Zaeed nods, pointing with his uninjured hand. Jacob stays quiet until Mordin's out of sight.

“This the way you treat prisoners now?”

“No,” Garrus says. “This is the way we treat you.”

He pulls his sidearm from its slot at his hip and settles the barrel between Jacob's eyes.

“I could just as easily make you a corpse.”

“Say the magic word,” Zaeed suggests with a dry chuckle. “Worked so well before.”

“Say something,” Garrus agrees. “It's been a long day, and I'm out of patience.”

Jacob lets out a steady breath and looks up.

“I am Gemini.”

“Try again. Gemini's dead.”

“I fed Kaidan Alenko secrets from inside Cerberus,” Jacob continues, undeterred, glaring back. “Under the alias of Gemini, I made covert info drops, supplying coordinates, troop counts, and hacking programs.”

“Gemini is dead,” Garrus repeats. “Murdered over a month ago—by your best friend, no less.”

“Alenko _knew_ it was me. My cover was almost blown. He helped disseminate rumors of Gemini's death, to protect me.”

“Kaidan was at the south gate when Cerberus bombed us. He never told me a single thing that would connect you to Gemini. I have no reason to believe you.”

The fire leaves his eyes instantly. On his knees, Jacob slumps forward, offering his bowed head.

“Fine,” he says. “Do it. I'm done.”

Fury tightens Garrus's hand around the gun, but he doesn't fire. Zaeed laughs at the mimicry as the heel of Garrus's hand smashes across Jacob's face.

“Coward,” he snarls. “You lying piece-of-shit. After all that, after everything—everything we went through, everything she did for you!”

He strikes again, opening a ragged line above Jacob's brow. His hand is painted red, glittering in the faint light, numb to pain, and it hits him all at once: Kaidan dead, all those marines, their plan in tatters, Joker missing, Shepard crying, wounded, broken, Shepard, Shepard, Shepard—

“Garrus.”

Zaeed's face is pale and closed, Jacob has collapsed sideways, and Garrus stares at the hand resting on his, the fingers gently peeling the gun from his frozen grip.

Tali slowly brings her other hand to his face. The hole in her exosuit has made it all the way around, and her arm is bare now, from the elbow down. She traces along his mandible with one velvet-soft finger.

He can hear screaming, distantly, two terrified voices carrying his name across the courtyard. An explosion rumbles beneath their feet.

“Garrus,” she says again. “I think Shepard needs you.”

Zaeed steps over Jacob's motionless body.

“We'll cover you,” he says. “Go.”

So Garrus reverses his earlier trip, out of the alcove, past the marines readying their rifles, through the broken columns and stacked crates, around the fountain, up the short stairs. Behind him, a powerful blast batters the doors, and a shout goes up. The snipers above open fire.

“What the hell?” Jack demands. “Where the fuck were you? Where's Mordin?”

“Here, right here!” Mordin says, scrambling up with a bundle of blankets tucked beneath his arm. “Contractions at two minutes. Amniotic sac still unbroken—not a problem. Into the fountain!”

Another explosion knocks them all into each other, dust sprinkling from the ceiling.

“What?”

“The fountain,” he repeats, pointing behind them. “Familiar for both. Salarians naturally amphibious: lay eggs in shallow pools. Have seen vid of similar—human water births, in EDI's download.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No!” Shepard snaps, pushing their hands off her. “ _You_ get in the fucking fountain!”

“Shepard—”

“Garrus, it's the most exposed position!”

Equidistant from each wall, maybe five meters in diameter, the fountain rises up from a base of artfully sculpted shrubs and flowerbeds, flanked by six thick columns that stretch to the ceiling. A perfect line-of-sight to the doors—he might have liked it for a sniper perch, but there's no rail, barely a retaining wall, and the emergency lights reflect too easily off their armor. But the water within is clear and continuously recycling.

“Best option,” Mordin says. “Cleanest. Safest, for the baby.”

“Don't worry,” Jack says, carefully extracting her hand from Shepard's. “I'll cover you with the barrier.”

She has no immediate argument as they lift her up and over the rim, but when her feet hit the water, she starts fighting.

“No, no, no, put me down! Garrus, stop—put me down!”

“Shepard—”

“No, I can't! I can't do this.”

“Ridiculous,” Mordin sniffs. “Evolution for precisely this purpose—all necessary organs present, processes—”

But that's not what she means. She thrashes, pushing against him, so Garrus lets go. She jolts a few shaky steps away before a contraction twists her to her knees. Crouched, the water reaches almost to her neck. Garrus hooks a hand under her arm.

“C'mon,” he coaxes, pulling her up and over to the wall. “I've got you.”

She braces herself with one hand on his arm, face leaning into his shoulder.

“I can't do this. Not alone.”

She lifts her head, blinking through tears.

“What if he's—?”

“You can't think about that,” Garrus says firmly. “Not now. Stay here.”

He can feel Mordin behind him, vibrating with excitement, and Jack powering up somewhere towards the front. Small arms fire ricochets through the courtyard, the echo of mortar explosions knocking between the columns.

“Garrus,” she whispers. “I'm scared.”

He bends down, leveling their eye-line, taking her free hand and closing it in both of his.

“Jane, listen to me. You're not alone. We're here—all of us—and we love you.”

“Except me!” Jack calls quickly.

“Except Jack,” Garrus amends, drawing a shaky laugh from Shepard. “And probably Zaeed. They're just here for the money.”

She laughs again and then inhales with a hiss, squeezing his hand tight. Her eyes snap shut, releasing a few tears.

“Stay with me?”

He leans his forehead into hers.

“I'll never leave.”

“Ready, now?” Mordin asks softly. “Few things to prepare.”

Garrus doesn't need to be told, but Shepard makes a spinning motion with her finger.

“Avert your eyes.”

“ _Gladly_ ,” he assents, holding out one arm for her to lean on as Mordin helps her unlace her boots and step out of the unisuit. “Bet you're regretting all that shore leave about now.”

“Shut up. You can turn around, but eyes _front_ , Vakarian.”

She focuses on breathing deep, certain the worst is to come. Squatting, the water just covers her hips, and Mordin's hands disappear between her slightly bent legs with the shiv. Seconds later, the water clouds with amniotic fluid, and Mordin straightens, grinning.

“Excellent,” he declares. “On next contraction, push.”

The intensity of it shocks her, a pain that doesn't throb and recede but digs its teeth into her back. She releases a scream from somewhere deep, a guttural roar to carry away all her rage and fear. Dimly, she hears Garrus's encouragement, feels his arm gripping her back, his fingers entwined with hers.

“Push, push, push,” Mordin orders, stoic and focused downward, hands braced against her inner thighs. The contraction ends abruptly, and her head drops back.

“You're doing great,” Garrus says.

“How would you know?” she gasps.

“I don't,” he says with a shrug. “I'm just assuming. Humans are weird. I mean, who gives birth standing up?”

“Plenty of viviparous species,” Mordin interjects. “Gravity helpful—ease tension on muscles pushing fetus through vaginal canal.”

“Again. _Weird_.”

“Head now visible,” Mordin continues. “Fascinating. Wish you could see.”

“I'm...good like this,” Shepard promises.

“Push again when ready.”

She's mildly concerned about Garrus's hearing but screams anyway, glad for the release. The pain grows and spreads across her abdomen, jumping from limb to limb, soaking through every inch of her. Time seems to stretch and slow. One minute becomes two becomes ten becomes twenty, and then it's over.

Too quick, she thinks—her eyes snap open at the sudden emptiness. Mordin lifts a body from the water, impossibly tiny, blue and ivory in the moonlight. Sound fades to silence but for the pulse rushing through her ears as he sets the baby on her chest. She feels Garrus's grip tighten, and her free hand ghosts over the baby's face, the closed eyes, the button nose, the pursed mouth.

“External genitalia indicates male,” Mordin says.

“Is...is he—?”

But then his eyes open, matching her own with a steady stare. For a moment, she can't breathe, watching his little belly rise and fall, his fingers curling into slowly waving fists. Every inch of her bare skin touching his burns, electrified by contact, heart slamming against her ribcage.

“My congratulations, Shepard.”

She wants to say something, anything—a few words of welcome, wisdom, gratitude—but a choked sob is all that escapes. Garrus releases her hand and cradles her head against his shoulder.

“You did it,” he whispers into her hair. “It's over, Jane. You're okay.”

She nods, utterly drained. Mordin lifts the baby from her chest, and he releases a piercing wail.

“Definitely a Shepard,” Garrus says with a wince. She manages a smile.

Mordin cauterizes the umbilical cord with his omnitool and carries the baby over to the blankets piled on the retaining wall.

“Will return you momentarily,” the salarian cheerily assures him, gently rubbing his skin clean. He swaddles the baby expertly and returns him, as promised, to Shepard's outstretched arms. “Stimulus response, loud cry, pink skin, movement—just under three kilos.”

“He's huge,” Garrus says.

“By turian standards, yes,” Mordin agrees, pulling a blanket into the water. “Small, actually, by human standards. Garrus, assistance?”

He holds Shepard around the shoulders and lifts, allowing Mordin to wrap her lower body.

“Must continue, out of water.”

“Don't tell me there's another one in there.”

“No, no, no,” Mordin chuckles. “Placenta delivery. Common in—”

Garrus holds up a hand.

“I know what it is,” he says with a shudder. Shepard cradles her son, limply allowing Garrus to carry her out of the fountain.

“Almost done, Shepard,” Mordin promises.

All she has strength for is a weak nod. The baby cries, and she trails a finger across his brow. Garrus sets her against a wall, as directed, and steps uncertainly away. Mordin pulls the soaked blanket over her knees.

“You, uh, need me for this?” Garrus asks.

“Hardly needed you before,” Mordin says lightly, shooing him with a wave. Shepard gives him an exhausted half-smile, and he retreats to the fountain.

Jack is sitting on the rim, staring out towards the battle and licking her fingers clean of ration crumbs.

“Illusion shattered yet?” she calls.

“Shut up,” Garrus returns wearily, grabbing Shepard's discarded clothing. Jack pushes off the wall and slides down, smirking.

“I'm just saying. Fountain looks like you were chumming for varren.”

“Shut _up_.”

She has the decency to help him at least, gathering Mordin's scattered bundle of blankets. Wordlessly, they make an alcove of some crates and two tall hedges, and then spread the blankets into a makeshift bed. Cerberus is still shelling, and snipers fire above them, but it all feels far away to Garrus, hardly more than background noise.

“I asked Zaeed how it's going,” Jack says quietly. “They're just fucking with us.”

Shepard's half-asleep when they return, curled around the baby, watching Mordin's turned back as he wraps something bloody in rags.

“All well,” he announces.

“You sound almost disappointed.”

“He is,” Shepard says, over Mordin's protestations. “The download included a lot on complications.”

“Merely speculating,” Mordin insists. “Only wish to assure you all possible situations accounted for. Could handle _anything_.”

“Maybe next time, Professor.”

“We've got a place to stash you, princess,” Jack says.

Mordin takes the baby, thankfully silent now, and holds him out to Garrus.

“I don't think I should—”

“Support neck and rump, like this,” Mordin says, and the baby slides easily into the awkward circle of Garrus's arms, head resting on the turian's palm. He's terrifyingly unwieldy, warm and slippery in the swaddling. His eyes are a deep, clear blue, but the reflection of Kaidan in that steady stare is unmistakable.

“Hi,” Garrus whispers.

Mordin has already moved on, eliciting Jack's assistance in getting Shepard to her feet.

“Oh, holy shit,” she moans, leaning heavily on their arms. “This isn't anything like in the vids.”

They walk her slowly to the prepared bed, where Mordin watches Shepard eat two rations bars and drink half a canteen.

“Rest now,” he commands, rising. “Suggest you attempt to feed him, if possible.”

“Where are you going?” she demands, as Garrus returns the baby to her arms, over-careful of each tiny movement.

“Suspect my skills needed elsewhere.”

The rumble of an explosion drowns Shepard's reply.

“Probably your cue. I'll keep watch,” Jack suggests. “I'm not up to fighting weight yet.”

“I'm going with, but I won't be far,” Garrus promises. Shepard nods, unable to trust her voice.

Jack takes position at the entrance to the little alcove, sitting cross-legged, shotgun balanced across her knees.

“I've got this, Vakarian.”

The mission clock is pushing twenty-nine hours as he and Mordin turn to the south, but there's no sign of the sun. The hedges concealed before what is now slowly revealed to them: crates empty of supplies, columns shattered, impact craters littering the ground. The battered doors appear to have given up, sagging inward, but Garrus can see nothing beyond. Cerberus hides behind a heavy veil of smoke, sending only four or five troopers at a time.

“Come on, push them back!” Zaeed shouts from somewhere above the field.

Garrus pulls his rifle free of its slot, but it's no use—the marines dispatch the last trooper, and Grunt shoves a three-meter block of concrete in front of the door. Two Alliance engineers follow, using small blasting caps to collapse more debris, strengthening the barricade.

A shout goes up for medics, for amp checks and reloads. Mordin peels off at the back ranks, glancing towards the dwindling supplies.

“Any point checking prisoner?” he asks mirthlessly. Garrus is saved from answering by the human lieutenant, who approaches with a stiff salute.

“Spectre Vakarian, sir?” he asks. “First Lieutenant James Vega.”

“I remember,” Garrus says, returning the salute. “You're on Major Alenko's detail.”

“A late recruit, yes, sir.”

“We met on the _Normandy_. Hell of a right hook, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes, sir,” Vega says again, and he sounds almost flattered. “Um, Massani's requesting your presence, sir.”

“That sounds a little too polite for Zaeed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Garrus suppresses a sigh and gestures for Vega to lead the way.

It's difficult for Garrus to see himself the way these marines must see him. He knows they don't mean anything by it, but all he remembers is a fired C-Sec officer, a failed vigilante, a useless XO. He'd thought the hero-worship would die down after the first few days of the campaign—certainly they admired Kaidan, but they respected him as an officer, and managed to approach him without all the attendant bowing and scraping.

It's ridiculous. They'd made Spectre together and ran the _Normandy_ as a team: Kaidan commanding the marines, Garrus managing the specialists that stayed on. The whole campaign they fought side by side, equals in everything but the eyes of the men.

“Just here, sir,” Vega says, indicating the ladder to the balcony.

“Thanks, Lieutenant.”

He shoulders a nearby box of ammo and turns to go, but Garrus can't stop himself.

“And, listen, Vega,” he says. The lieutenant turns back obediently. “ _Spectre_ isn't a rank. It's just—Vakarian's fine. And I'm not military. So you don't have to, you know, with the sir and saluting.”

“Didn't mean offense,” Vega shrugs. “Just how I've seen the others treat you, so I thought—”

“I know. It's annoying. You can tell them to stop.”

“Yes, sir,” Vega says and then laughs. “We'll try.”

“Goddamnit, you coming up or not?” Zaeed calls impatiently.

Garrus bites back a retort and climbs, hauling himself unsteadily onto the balcony, where Zaeed is busy patching a gash on his forearm.

“Situation's shit,” he announces, tearing a piece of dirty gauze with his teeth.

“Jack mentioned that,” Garrus says dryly. “What's the headcount?”

“Theirs or ours?”

“Us.”

“Same plus one, I'd wager,” Zaeed says with a shrug. “Couldn't really tell who had the worst of it.”

“She's alright. Baby, too. They're resting.”

“Good for fucking them,” he says but absent any malice. Garrus takes pity on his inept bandaging and pulls clean supplies from his armor. “They've got something out there, Garrus. Tali tried to take readings with her drone, but no use. Whatever it is, it's huge and powerful, and hanging back.”

Zaeed stares at the blocked doors, and Garrus spares a quick glance.

“Even Krios can't see through that shit,” he continues quietly. In the field below them, no one's talking, tense and passing supplies hand to hand, rationing out clips and grenades. “They've got us. Joker, the _Normandy_ —whatever they faced up there—he could be dead. Ship gone. And no shuttles. They've _got_ us. What the hell are they waiting for?”

He's not waiting for an answer, which works just fine for Garrus—who has none, and so occupies his hands with snapping his rifle together.

“Who've they even got left? Your little campaign cleaned them out, I thought. All this for revenge? Illusive Man's so short-sighted he'll throw bodies at us until—what? What the fuck's his endgame?”

“Maybe it's not _his_ endgame,” Garrus says as his scope falls on Jacob. He managed to survive the beating and the battle, and sits slumped against the wall, blinking, twisting his bound hands.

Cerberus cuts further speculation short—shelling resumes against the barricade. It's not the scattered mortar bursts of before, but a slow, steady thud against the concrete.

It's enough to knock Shepard from a doze in her little alcove, as she twitches herself awake and jostles the baby.

“Oh, fuck, don't cry,” she begs, but he only releases a small whimper, pushing his face against her breast.

Jack glances back just in time to see Shepard lift her shirt.

“What?” she says. “You've seen everything else already.”

“Still owe me dinner,” Jack huffs, turning so she's half-facing Shepard. The baby latches on easily enough, and they watch him in silence for a few moments. His skin is bright red, glowing against Shepard's pale chest, and his head is crowned with a smattering of dark hair.

Shepard casts a glance to the south as another explosion showers them with dust.

Jack sighs and chews her lower lip and speaks suddenly.

“His head's all fucked up.”

“What? No it isn't!”

"Look at his skull,” Jack continues. “It's pointy.”

“It is not,” Shepard says, defensively cupping his head. “It's perfect.”

“God, you're so proud, too,” Jack laughs. “Like a dog with a dead squirrel.”

“Hey, I'm allowed to take pride in this!” Shepard retorts, gesturing to her still-swollen stomach. “I just grew a whole new person in here, all by myself! And pushed him out, and I'm feeding him with a nutrient-rich and immune-boosting substance that my body created. I don't see _you_ —wait, did you just call my baby _a dead squirrel_?”

She holds onto the offended fury for a half-second before they both break and dissolve into quiet laughter.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Jack says, grinning.

“ _Missed_ me? Doesn't sound like the Jack I remember.”

“Yeah, well, maybe some of your stupid attitude rubbed off on me. After you were gone, it was weird, being able to sleep without some asshole coming by every ten minutes to make nice and interrogate me about my past.”

“I wasn't trying to interrogate,” Shepard says. “I did legitimately want to be your friend.”

“Yeah, well, congrats. I'm almost a real person now.”

Jack concentrates on rubbing her hands together.

“Don't tell Garrus, but I might be in this for more than the money.”

“Well, thank you,” Shepard says delicately. “I know this isn't the op you planned, but I'm grateful you're here.”

“So what exactly was _your_ plan?” Jack asks, clearly past her emotional limits.

“It didn't go much past _get out_ ,” Shepard admits. “I had no idea what I was walking into, I just hoped...”

She sighs, hand tracing inelegantly through the air.

“I don't know. Get out, find a shuttle, hope I could make it off-planet before getting caught.”

“And if you got caught?”

Shepard refocuses on the baby, gently stroking his scalp with her hand.

“Shep?”

“There was no getting caught,” she says at last, reluctantly. “Not again.”

“So, what, find a gun and...?”

“Yeah.”

Jack's glance darts from the baby to her shotgun and back to Shepard's face, who cannot meet her eyes.

“You think you could have done it?”

“Yes. No. It's hard to say, until you're in the moment. Until you actually have to make the choice.”

“What about now?” Jack asks and seems to immediately regret it. Shepard's head snaps up, and she stares, nonplussed. “It won't happen. We won't let it.”

“No,” Shepard agrees slowly. “We won't.”

Jack laughs a little uncertainly.

“Anyway, Garrus wouldn't go for it. Now that he's so close to winning.”

“That's not funny,” Shepard warns with a half-smile.

“Tali won't mind. Think she's got her eye on some of that Alliance beefcake we've been slumming with.”

“Stop it.”

“And you gotta love his timing, too. Daddy's dead and—”

“Stop,” she says again, and she's not smiling anymore.

“Sorry,” Jack mumbles. She turns back to the battle, concealing her face. “Guess I'm still not that good at this.”

Shepard massages her stomach with the heel of her free hand, frowning. Her whole body is an unbandaged wound.

“I'm sorry I snapped. It's just—”

Difficult to put into words, at the least. She wants to feel anger, annoyance, even affection for the baby curled into her elbow, but there's nothing left inside, emotion oozing out like old blood. More than that, though, she wants it all to be over—the rescue, the imprisonment, the war. She feels splintered, her earlier exercise having been too effective: she has pulled herself into pieces and now has no manual for reconstruction.

Soldier's instinct is urging her not to think, not to dwell on anything but what's right in front of her—the battle, mostly, which ricochets between the columns, ripples and splashes the water of the fountain against its rim. She can't be pulled down again— _won't_ —and so Kaidan is both alive and dead, Garrus in love and indifferent, until any evidence otherwise surfaces. She has no patience for the abstract. Shepard is a woman of absolutes, of necessity.

“I get it,” Jack says shortly. “Sorry I brought it up.”

The baby is finished. Shepard slips a finger into the corner of his mouth which he suckles for a moment, until she's shifted him to the other breast and pulled her shirt back down. This is an absolute: her son, his little body, his tiny working mouth, his half-closed eyes. Inside her, he was abstract—a fluttering movement beneath her skin, an inescapable heat, a quiet thrum against her heart.

He is a base on which she must build, a finite point of extraction from this whole mess.

Jack is watching her again, expression unreadable.

“What does it feel like?” she asks, almost shy.

“It's a little weird,” Shepard says with a slow smile. “Why? Think you want one of your own?”

“Fuck no.”

They can hear shouting now, the rhythmic thudding against the doors suddenly giving way to unsteady gunfire.

“Shouldn't you be trying to rest?” Jack says, hands tightening around her gun.

“I'm exhausted,” Shepard agrees, “but I feel completely lucid, like I've crossed over and come out on the other side of this thing, and now I'll never sleep again.”

She sighs and pinches the shiny silver blanket between her fingers.

“Besides, my getup's not conducive to relaxation. Where the fuck did Mordin find these?”

“I think they're for burns or something,” Jack shrugs. Shepard lifts the baby to her shoulder and gently pats his back. “They're in all the Alliance medkits. Good enough for puke, anyway. Your clothes are around somewhere. You want them?”

“Yeah. And could you find me some things?”

Jack rises to her feet, tossing Shepard her discarded unisuit and boots.

“You got a plan?”

“A good one,” Shepard promises. “I need an omnitool. Garrus's shield harness, and whatever armor you can find.”

“You want a report?”

Shepard sets the baby in the center of the blankets as she stands and casts a dark look to the south.

“If they're not too busy.”

They are, of course, but Garrus answers anyway.

_“I'm missing all the fun,”_ Jack whines through the earpiece.

“What's she want the armor for?”

_“Fuck should I know? She says she's got a plan.”_

“A good one?”

Jack laughs.

_“We'll see.”_

“Concentrate fire on the pilot!” Zaeed says from his left.

The snipers respond instantly, peppering the amber canopy with heavy rounds. Zaeed's shot breaks it, and Garrus's follows a millisecond later, splitting the pilot's head like an overripe melon. The massive armored tank sags, powering down, eliciting a relieved cry from the marines.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Zaeed laughs. He leans back and pulls apart the stock of his Viper. “Piece of shit jammed on me.”

Garrus remains prone, studying the mech through his scope.

“Fought one of those before?”

“We'd seen plans,” Garrus says. “I didn't think they had any built.”

Massive is really the best word for it: at least four or five meters in height and maybe three wide, hydraulics hidden beneath thick armor plating. Its bulk effectively blocks the hole it managed to punch through the fortifications, preventing Cerberus's advance.

_“So how's it going?”_

“Shepard,” Garrus sighs, “what are you doing?”

_“Making a cradle. How 'bout you?”_

“You know what I mean. Jack said you have a plan. Shepard—”

_“My plans are good,”_ she cuts in. He can hear faint buzzing over the channel.

“'Cause hubris always wins in the end,” Zaeed snorts, blowing dust from his gun's thermal port.

_“Most of my plans are good.”_

“Long as it doesn't involve the word surrender.”

_“I'm trying to get us into central control.”_

Zaeed shakes his head.

“That the best you have?”

_“EDI's in there. So is Kasumi and Kirrahe, according to your report.”_

“Old news,” he says. “No contact since your arrival.”

“It could be another trap, Shepard,” Garrus agrees.

_“Unless Cerberus recently switched its encryption to Joker's drunk playlist, I'm pretty sure it's EDI.”_

“So, into the building and then what?”

Her response comes slow and petulant.

_“I haven't got that far, yet.”_

“Jane—”

_“Look, we're not going to survive another wave of whatever that was.”_

“Whatever that was,” Zaeed repeats darkly, testing his grip.

Garrus sweeps over the mech's cockpit again. His VI reads the pilot as dead and his body just beginning to cool. Something on the console flashes, and the whole construct shudders. Faintly, Garrus hears gunfire on the far side.

“What the fuck was that?” Zaeed asks, having seen it as well.

Cerberus is shooting the mech from the other side, every impact twitching through its unresponsive limbs.

“The drive core,” Garrus realizes, and starts shouting. “Everyone, fall back! Fall back now!”

The mech explodes, shattering a huge chunk of the wall and sending up a thick cloud of dust. Garrus's boots hit the ground as the first wave of troopers pour over the wreckage.

“Grenades!” Zaeed shouts from above before sliding down the ladder. “Keep them pinned!”

EDI's voice breaks over the channel.

_“I am in control. I would advise a retreat into the building.”_

Cerberus oozes through the collapsed doors, marching over the fortifications, kicking past corpses. Garrus has a moment to admire their terrifying efficiency as the Alliance begins its retreat, one steady line of fire covering the ranks. It fills him with pride to see them work together, the team he and Kaidan had slowly built over the last six months, some quickly snatching up supplies, others grabbing abandoned weapons or carrying the wounded. The snipers drop one-by-one from the balcony, lining up shots as they stand, keeping the advance staggered.

Tali comes flying up from the right, shoving him with both hands.

“Move, you idiot!” she shouts. “It's a _retreat_ , not a performance!”

Jack is waiting at the door as they approach, the end of the pack.

“Join the party!” she calls. “Everyone else made it in!”

He pushes Tali ahead and turns back as the first cluster of troopers sweeps over the fountain. Jack sends a shockwave to scatter them, and he follows with a quick head-shot to a combat engineer. They whirl around as one and slip through the entrance just as the blast door slams down.

The building is too bright—he's blinded momentarily and covers his face with both hands.

“Fuck, EDI, dim it down a little,” Jack says. “This isn't a fucking surgery.”

_“My apologies,”_ EDI replies evenly. _“Is this level acceptable?”_

Garrus opens his eyes to the softly-lit foyer, imposingly clean and white, at least the same size as the courtyard and laid out similarly. Benches and queuing lanes take the place of hedges and fences, and the fountain is replaced by a wide semi-circle of a desk on a raised dais.

“There she is,” Tali says, pointing. Shepard is visible at the desk's edge, arms wrapped around her stomach, scanning the small crowd. Garrus takes Tali's offered hand and winds a path through the panting masses.

Shepard spots them and breaks into a relieved grin.

“Told you it was a good one,” she says. “And just in time.”

“And now you owe us one less,” Tali nods, briefly hugging the commander. “So, where's the baby?”

“My turn first,” Kasumi teases, emerging from behind the desk. He's nestled in her arms, asleep. The baby seems to be some kind of siren song—Samara parts the crowd like a wave and ascends the platform. Mordin follows shortly and interrupts the cooing with an annoyed huff.

The crowd circles closer, chattering, bandaging, sloughing off the specialists one-by-one: Thane, who slips up to Garrus's side almost undetected, then Grunt lumbering along, and Jack and Zaeed last, each leaning one leg on the top step, bored, waiting for orders.

Lieutenant Vega negotiates his way to the front and signals to Garrus.

“Headcount,” he says. “We lost Connors, Huang, Ojukwu, Malinowski, and Norris. Four more of ours wounded, plus two of the salarians. Everyone else accounted for.”

“Thanks,” Garrus nods, surveying the group over Vega's head. They fall into loose ranks on reflex, watching him patiently. “We're as safe as we're going to get for now. Keep a few men watching the door, just in case, and tell everyone to patch up.”

“What's our next move?”

“You'll know when I know. You're the ranking officer, right?”

“Yes, si—yeah,” he confirms, ducking his shoulders.

“Give the order, then. They're your men now.”

Vega nods sharply, after a moment's hesitation.

“You got it, Scars.”

“Scars?” Garrus repeats, with the quirk of a mandible.

“Hey, if I can't call you sir, I'll have to remember you somehow.”

The baby has made it around to Samara when Garrus turns back to the team. She holds him with one hand, at arm's length, inspecting his limbs with an expert's precision.

“It has been many years since the delivery of my last daughter,” she says.

“Oh, fuck's sake, not the story _again_ ,” Zaeed mutters behind them.

“But for the male appendage, he appears quite similar to an asari infant.”

“Aren't asari infants born blue?” Kasumi asks, with the air of one who has been made to ask many times before and always receives the same answer.

“Not necessarily,” Samara answers loftily. Shepard shoots Garrus a bemused look, and he shakes his head. “Asari grow into our skin color, darkening as we age. Most are born pale, a greyish tone quite similar to the coloring of quarians, in fact.”

Tali is saved from participating by Mordin's attentions, who is inspecting her bare arm for abrasions.

“Is show-and-tell over yet?” Jack snaps from the foot of the dais. “We're still under attack, right?”

“It is prophetic that my thoughts in recent months have dwelt so often on the birthing of my children,” Samara decides and hands him back to Shepard, who offers confused thanks.

_“Coincidence is more a more likely explanation,”_ EDI cuts in. _“You could have no empirical knowledge of Shepard's condition, and it is unlikely that your senses are developed enough to detect the minor physiological changes of human pregnancy.”_

“EDI, did you know I was pregnant before I was taken?”

_“Yes,”_ she chirps. _“I detected your abnormal hormone levels shortly before we destroyed the Collector base, and I consulted Jeff. He forbade me from saying anything to you, or to Major Alenko after your capture.”_

Shepard is momentarily dumbfounded.

“Well, there's something that would've been useful a few hours ago,” Zaeed laughs.

“Perhaps we could have prepared a creche aboard the _Normandy_ ,” Thane agrees with a smile, leaning over Shepard's shoulder to peer at the baby.

_“I am sorry,”_ EDI says. _“In all the operational excitement, I failed to advise anyone of the situation.”_

“That's okay,” Shepard replies, having recovered herself. “We all forget things, EDI.”

“So, boss, what's the plan?”

Everyone looks to Garrus, who looks at Shepard. She shrugs.

“I'm just the objective,” she says.

_“There is an antechamber at the end of the foyer. Major Kirrahe and I can meet you there shortly. I would advise bringing Operative Taylor. He may yet possess some useful information.”_

“Fucker's still around?” Jack sighs, less impressed than irritated. “Let's get this over with.”

Garrus and Grunt head off to collect the prisoner, and Shepard leads the others to the suggested room, where she is offered the only chair.

“I can stand,” she says. “I'm fine.”

They arrange themselves around the narrow conference table, an imperfect mirror of their positions before hitting the Collector base. Space is left for missing members, without acknowledgment, and Shepard is wracked momentarily with shivering spasms.

“Should have rested,” Mordin says disapprovingly.

“I'm fine,” she insists, but he _tsks_ and produces her kimono from a bag of supplies, setting it across her shoulders. She feels alarmingly out of place, domestic even, with her son cradled against her chest, arms twisted together beneath his body. Everything is much larger than she remembers, or perhaps she has grown smaller in captivity.

Kirrahe enters the room and, seeing her, smiles. He is followed shortly by a blonde woman Shepard can't place: medium height, thin-boned, with long arms and a short, pointed face. She is wearing a far-too-familiar Cerberus uniform, with all the logos ripped off, and moves at angles, each stuttering step swinging out and forward before tapping down, fingers and hands flickering together at her hips.

“Shepard,” she says warmly. “It is good to see you again.”

“EDI,” Shepard returns simply, because of course, _of course_ —having seen the infiltration units before, she cannot be surprised. It was stupid, in fact, to think anything else, like a portable blue box or an insanely steady connection between ship and building. And she will easily separate her memories, from this moment onward: this is EDI, smiling at her, hand extended, thin lips curled over plasticine teeth.

Mordin was right after all. Her mental posturing is useless against physical realities. She turns to Thane, slow and draining.

“Could you take him for a bit?” she says faintly, the ground rushing up from below, and she is guided carefully to the empty chair.

“Keelah,” Tali whispers, the back of her cool hand against Shepard's forehead. “Maybe you should sit this one out?”

“My apologies, Shepard,” EDI says, furrowing her porcelain brow. “I did not intend—”

“It's okay. It's okay.”

Domestic before, and now convalescent: she watches the door, shrugging aside their concern, annoyed at her own weakness. No matter, no time to focus, she reminds herself. Absolutes.

Garrus is taking too long—she worries a moment about his capacity for vengeance, and sends Tali out to speed them.

“New digs, EDI?” Zaeed says, to break the unease, twisting the point of a knife into a dent in his gauntlet. “Not bad.”

“Yes,” EDI agrees, running her hands along her sides. “I felt my previous body to be too...ostentatious. This unit better fits my role in combat and aboard the _Normandy_. I only hope Joker approves.”

“Long as he can stick his cock in it somewhere,” Jack says with a shrug, drawing a grin from EDI and a disapproving sigh from Samara.

Kirrahe crosses into Shepard's field of vision.

“I am relieved to see you alive,” he says, offering a quick salute.

“You, too,” she replies. She's about to investigate the promotion, but Garrus and Grunt have returned, shoving Jacob ahead of them.

“I said I'd help,” he snaps. “You don't have to do this.”

“And _yet_ ,” Garrus replies, tone cool and cutting. Jacob twists around to face him, bound hands catching on the edge of the table. The gathered team circles, enclosing him.

“Look, I want to help you.”

“Until you find a new angle for the knife in our back,” Grunt growls.

“I won't—”

“Past behavior would indicate otherwise,” Mordin sniffs.

“I _want_ to help. I can fight with you.”

“Think we've heard this song-and-dance,” Jack sneers. Zaeed is twirling the knife between his fingertips. “Should save ourselves the trouble.”

EDI hangs back, hands clasped behind her, studying the scene with her head tilted. Thane's stiff profile remains unmoved, standing to Shepard's right. Kirrahe says nothing.

“Wait!” Shepard calls. “Wait.”

The rest turn to her as one, disappointed at being denied the kill.

“Wait,” she says again, wearily. “I want to ask him something.”

Jacob approaches her chair like a worshipful penitent, and she studies him, his bruised face, his soft white teeth, the puckering of skin at the corners of each eye. Everything familiar, meaningless. She twists her hands together in her lap—eyes darting once to her son, curled asleep in Thane's arms.

“I guess I just need to hear it,” she decides. “I need you to tell me. To say the words.”

She waits until he lifts his head and meets her gaze.

“Did you know?” she asks, voice breaking, barely above a whisper. “What she was going to do to me? Did you know it was all a setup and I was going to be taken?”

“Shepard, I—”

“I'll ask you only once,” she continues softly. “Don't lie to me.”

The shame of it drops him to his knees, sending his gaze to the floor.

“Yes,” he says.

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“Fucking _traitor_.”

“I had to!” Jacob snarls, glaring at each in turn. Shepard has covered her face with both hands and does not speak. “I had to. You don't understand what he's like—what he can do. I _had_ to. There was no other choice.”

“ _Always_ a choice,” Mordin says quietly.

“To do what?”

Jacob turns back to Shepard, who listens through the mesh of her fingers and hair.

“He contacted us—me and Miranda—after you blew the base. They planned the Overlord mission as a trap. I couldn't get her to stop—what was I supposed to do? What could I do? Yes, I knew what she was planning. I knew the second we set down, we'd never go back. What was I supposed to do?”

“Stop her. Stop them,” Tali says, and her voice is shaking with the effort. “You could have _told_ us.”

“I had no choice,” he says again, helplessly. “If I resisted, they would've killed me—us. All of us. You don't understand what he's capable of. I couldn't fight them. You needed me in here with you. I _helped_ you. Alenko would never've found this place without me. If I'd died—”

“You would have died on Aite a loyal soldier and a decent man!” Garrus snaps.

“Look, I don't expect you to forgive me—”

“Good,” Shepard says, pushing the hair back from her face. Her gaze is clear and cold. “I'm not going to.”

She collects herself, spooling up every tendril of emotion. The squad takes her cue, backing down, fists uncurling, jaws unclenching.

“It doesn't matter,” she says. “We don't have time for this. You want to be useful? Help us get out of here.”

She signals to Garrus, who pulls Jacob to his feet and away, stowing him in a corner.

“EDI, what's our comm status?”

“I expect to break through the firewalls momentarily. Your original program was well written, Shepard, but Cerberus adapted. There was someone else in the system.”

“Was?”

EDI wordlessly smoothes her hands down the front of her disheveled uniform.

“Never figured you'd fight dirty,” Zaeed says with a dry chuckle.

“Avenues presented themselves,” EDI replies coyly. “I simply adjusted my strategy.”

She turns back to Shepard, pivoting on the sharp point of her small ankles.

“Although my own broadcast signal was mostly uncompromised, I have been unable to return to the ship or give status reports. I believe Jeff will attempt to make contact shortly.”

_“EDI, is that you? Come on, baby, give me an answer!”_

“I am here, Jeff,” she says, voice filling with warmth.

“We're _all_ here,” Garrus cuts in quickly.

_“Well, can't win 'em all. Shep and the baby okay?”_

“Yes, we are.”

_“Thank god, I was so worried about—”_

He catches himself a half-second too late.

_“I mean, um, baby? What baby?”_

She doesn't reply, and EDI is kind enough to keep her mouth shut as well.

_“I'm going to pay for that later, right?”_

“Can't win 'em all, Joker,” Shepard returns.

_“Worth it,”_ he decides. _“What's the plan, Commander?”_

“We need to get out of this building.”

EDI projects a holo of the blueprints from her omnitool. Shepard levers herself from the chair slowly, taking Mordin's offered hand, and stands beside Garrus at the head of the table.

“Get out, and go where?” he asks quietly.

“One thing at a time,” she accedes, sighing. “Joker, what's shuttle status?”

_“Gone, Commander. We've only got one bird, and it's missing most of the parts that would qualify it as a bird.”_

“Cerberus has shuttles,” Samara suggests.

“Across the complex,” Shepard replies, shaking her head. “I can stand, but I'm not that strong. Neither are the wounded.”

“Joker, could you swing a pick-up?”

_“Maybe. We got the shit kicked out of us, though. We underestimated Cerberus's fleet strength.”_

“What's up there with you?”

_“Two frigates, barely scratched.”_

Garrus swears softly, curling his fist on the tabletop.

_“Half-dozen birds, too. Bombers, by their profile.”_

“Fuck,” Jack says. “That's why you bailed?”

_“Yeah. Cruiser was more of a carrier than we thought. It was spring the trap or watch the wing burn. We pulled away the cruiser and most of the fighters, but we were ambushed by the frigates. Jumped in when we jumped away, I guess.”_

“What's the damage?”

_“Worse than we thought they could do. These frigates are new—tougher than what we've seen. Main gun ripped a hole in engineering. We're patching what we can, and I've kept us out of sight.”_

He sighs, and it sounds as exhausted as she feels. Garrus's hand rests beside her left, and Mordin keeps a reassuring grip on her right elbow.

_“Pick-up's possible. But the nanosecond we drop stealth, those frigates will turn and fire.”_

“Hyperbole,” EDI says.

_“Not by much. Get out somewhere open, and I'll get you. I can make a low-atmo jump, but it'll tear up whatever's around.”_

“Not our problem,” Mordin says.

_“Pick a place, paint a target, and I'll be there.”_

“Like a fucking ballet,” Zaeed grunts.

“So that's the where,” Garrus nods.

“Now the how,” Shepard finishes, wincing at the rhyme. “EDI, magnify the center.”

She points to a long, thin room that appears to run the length of the building, separated from their position by a maze of corridors and labs.

“What the hell is that?”

Their attention swivels to Jacob, who shrinks against the wall.

“I don't know anything about this base,” he confesses hesitantly. “I wasn't assigned here.”

“Nice fucking help,” Jack says.

“I may have overestimated your usefulness,” EDI agrees coolly.

“Stand down,” Garrus says in unison with Shepard. They share a quick grin.

“He'll make his use later,” Shepard continues. “EDI, give me options.”

With a flourish, she highlights seven doors in bright, blinking red.

“Our possible exits,” she says, manipulating the holo.

“All on the far side of that chamber.”

“There are a number of paths available, but I believe putting as much distance between ourselves and the Cerberus forces following will increase our chances of successful extraction.”

“It'd just be easier if we knew what was in there,” Garrus says with a nod. “Any clues, EDI?”

“No. My access is limited to external security. If there is surveillance inside that chamber, it is inaccessible to me.”

“So it'll be an adventure,” Shepard suggests, grinning at him. Garrus makes a noise of disagreement and turns back to the holo.

“I must confess curiosity,” EDI says. “I have attempted to gain entry to the chamber through Cerberus's network, but it is impossible.”

“What, there's no network in there?”

“I am...uncertain.”

“What do you mean?”

EDI rocks from toe to heel, calculating.

“As I said, my access is limited to external security. I control cameras, turrets, intercom systems. I can control the doors, windows, and environmental functions of this building and others in the base. My senses have spread across every part of this system, but there are points of...darkness.”

“Darkness?” Samara asks.

“It is difficult to explain. Parts of the base have been closed off to me.”

“Hardware locks?” Tali suggests.

“Perhaps,” EDI replies. “Their existence is marked only by their absence, as with this central chamber.”

“Well, there's no way to really avoid it,” Shepard says.

“And I'd like find out what's in there,” Garrus agrees, gingerly testing his shoulder, “rather than wait and see if it becomes a problem.”

They choose the most direct path, through their current antechamber to a series of small labs that descend, east to west, to the foot of the mystery chamber. Shepard lets Garrus make all the arrangements without comment: she will be the epicenter, Mordin and Jack guarding, followed by the wounded, and everyone else circled in front and behind.

“We'll move only as fast as the slowest person,” Garrus says. “EDI will keep us updated on Cerberus's status outside, and when we reach the exit, we'll coordinate with Joker for a pick-up.”

_“I'll keep low, and listen close. Good luck.”_

Shepard whirls to the door, but Garrus catches her elbow.

“Where are you going?”

“My project,” she grins, enjoying his confusion. “I'll need Tali for a bit.”

“That...doesn't fill me with confidence.”

“Have some faith,” Tali says with a musical little laugh. “I'll find that lieutenant and relay the orders.”

She wraps her bare arm around Shepard's waist, and they stagger into the corridor.

“Forgot the sprog,” Jack calls after them, unenthusiastically, but Thane doesn't seem to mind.

“Remind you of your son?” Garrus asks, earning a rare smile from the drell.

“Yes. And all the debts of parenthood incurred,” he says. “As Shepard helped preserve my son, so will I assist in protecting hers.”

Garrus holds his hand out to take the baby, ready for a second try, but Mordin's elbowing his way between them.

“Should like to return to lab. Take samples of lanugo. Disappointed that placenta could not be salvaged—no matter. Can request uterine tissue samples when we return to _Normandy_.”

They share a nonplussed look over Mordin's bent head as Thane hands over Shepard's son.

“Professor,” Garrus sighs, mandible twitching in amusement. “Be _less_ creepy.”

He tucks the baby into the crook of his arm as Mordin huffs, offended.

“Academic curiosity often mistaken for perversity. By the _ignorant_.”

Garrus looks down at the baby, who is waking momentarily, tiny fist working free from the swaddling.

“Not _creepy_ ,” Mordin mutters, but he crosses to the far side of the room, fussing over his supplies. Kirrahe stifles his amusement with an inadequate cough.

“It's Alenko's kid, right?”

Jacob's voice is rough and his gaze soft. Garrus shifts a little, hiding the baby's face from him.

“I didn't even know she was pregnant.”

“So what _do_ you know?” Jack says. “Besides nothing about this base. Or what Cerberus is doing. Or how to get off-planet. Or how many—”

Zaeed aims a thermal clip at Jack's head, which she bats easily away.

“I wasn't assigned here.”

“Some use,” Zaeed says, laughing. “You'll do as a meat-shield, if nothing else.”

“You weren't assigned here,” Kasumi repeats. “And yet, here you are.”

“I escaped. You don't trust me? Neither did the Illusive Man. I was separated from Miranda, sent to work in Weapons Dev.”

“So you're responsible for all the tech that's been fragging us the last six months,” Jack scowls.

“I worked security, okay? I had nothing to do with that!”

“Always got the perfect story.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jacob returns. “Look, the Illusive Man doesn't broker failure.”

“What failure?” Zaeed says with a snort. “Stopped the fucking Collectors, didn't we?”

“He wanted their base. Shepard destroying it wasn't part of his plan. We—Miranda and I—were supposed to, I don't know, convince her to preserve it.”

“You did not witness what the Collectors had built,” Samara says darkly.

“No, I didn't. But they managed to salvage parts. The Illusive Man was studying it, and whatever Miranda was doing here was part of it.”

“But why Shepard? Why keep her alive all this time?”

“I don't know, exactly,” Jacob says. Jack makes a noise of disgust, turning her focus back to her guns. “He brought her back because he thought she was special.”

“A lot of effort for a figurehead,” Kirrahe says. “Billions of credits gone to waste, from his perspective.”

“What about here, now?”

Thane remains impossibly still, hands folding over each other.

“Why not destroy us in the courtyard? Why detonate the buildings to funnel us here? Why hold back troops, depleting our supplies but preventing casualties? With two frigates, they could easily raze the base.”

Jacob knows much more than he's telling, the conflict obvious in his eyes.

“You gain nothing in hiding from us,” Samara says.

“And silence makes Zaeed's idea sound better and better,” Garrus agrees.

Jacob rolls his shoulders a few times, taking a breath.

“It's not the Illusive Man,” he says at last. “It's Miranda.”

“The _bitch_ ,” Jack corrects, but shuts up at Garrus's sharp glance.

“It's like he didn't really care about Shepard. He was angry—at her, the lost credits, the project waste—but after a while, he just seemed to forget. He was focused on other things.”

“What other things?”

“Your campaign, for one. But more than that, the Reapers. He wasn't going to wait around for whatever the Council was going to do. He was obsessed with protecting humanity. Whatever Miranda was doing was part of that.”

“You don't know?”

“She wouldn't tell me specifics. Maybe she was trying to protect me. But this? This is all Miranda.”

“So, what? She wants to keep Shepard?” Jack asks.

“No,” Jacob says firmly. “Miranda's not that stupid. She knows Shepard would die first. That's not enough.”

“She has something,” Garrus says. “She has something Shepard would want.”

Even as the words leave his mouth, the answer floats up behind his eyes.

A sudden noise at the door startles them: Shepard has returned, followed by the marines. Tali and Vega are carrying pieces of Cerberus armor, broken down and reformed into the vague shape of a box. It's uncertain how much she has heard—enough, apparently, as she straightens her shoulders and, almost defiantly, meets his worried gaze.

“They have something I want?” she says. “Okay. Let's go get it.”

She takes her son from Garrus and directs Vega and Tali where to place their burden.

“Your project?” Garrus asks.

“I had to keep my hands busy somehow,” she says with a nod, setting the baby on the table to adjust his swaddling. 

She's attached pieces of discarded armor to the exterior of a supply bag and hooked the strap to the shield harness he rigged up hours ago. The inside of the bag is lined with the remainder of those silver emergency blankets. Shepard sets the baby in the armored cradle and tucks the fabric securely around his body.

“I think we're ready to move,” she says, slipping the whole construct over her shoulders with Tali's help. The quarian secures a pair of short gauntlets over Shepard's arms and waves her omnitool for a quick diagnostic. “I'll have shields, and Jack's barrier in an emergency.”

“Shepard,” Garrus says quietly, reaching for her hand.

“Don't,”she replies in the same low tone. “Don't say it. Let's just get through this moment, and the next, and the next. Okay?”

Tali shakes her head at him and gives Shepard's arm a reassuring squeeze.

EDI takes point, leading them through lab after empty lab, like a docent ambling through abandoned exhibits.

“I do not know precisely what Cerberus was studying here,” she says, indicating a row of monitors set into the wall, “but the equipment suggests biological experimentation. There is an operating theater on the other side of the wall.”

“And we're just supposed to believe our little invasion emptied the place out?” Zaeed says, unconvinced.

“Perhaps the central chamber was meant to serve as a sort of bunker,” EDI suggests. “I estimate workstations in these labs suitable for approximately seventy-five personnel per room. We may encounter a force of hundreds.”

“Try not to sound so excited,” Garrus sighs. They approach the central chamber sideways: funneled by the curve of walls and corridors to the massive main door, sealed and hard-locked.

“This looks promising,” Tali says, running her fingers over the seam. “EDI, can you see anything?”

“The power was not cut manually,” she says, scanning the walls and floors. “My thermal imaging software detects faint traces of heat, through here.”

She points, and a door materializes where there had been only a blank wall before.

“One moment, please,” she says brightly, summoning the interface and beginning a hack.

“Right,” Garrus says. “Vega, Zaeed, Campbell: when that door opens, sweep the room. Everyone else, fall back.”

They move as one asynchronous slug, rolling disjointedly into the previous dimly-lit lab. Dead monitors line one wall, tall glass pods along the other.

“Like my tank,” Grunt says, almost nostalgic.

“They put me in one of those once,” Shepard says. She is unwilling to elaborate, so Garrus moves to Tali, who remains near the door, playing with Chiktikka's settings. Her bare hand beckons, fingers curling into her palm, and he leans in.

“What we walked in on, earlier—”

“Not what it sounded like,” he says quickly.

Light flashes over her faceplate as Tali whips her head around.

“Don't do that,” she says firmly. “This is a partnership, Garrus. Stop trying to protect me. I know what I heard.”

“It was just speculation,” he replies, chastened.

“And what do you _speculate_?”

They share a quick glance to Shepard, as pale and haggard as they've ever seen, distracting herself with the baby.

“He's dead, Tali. This is Miranda's bluff. There's no way he survived that bombing.”

She tilts her head and runs a finger over the soft skin beneath his jaw.

“Oh, Garrus, no faith?” she asks, but her tone is buoyant with affection, and she draws her arms around him in a hug.

“You know me,” he replies, face buried in the fabric of her hood. “Never disappointed.”

“But sometimes pleasantly surprised.”

They part quickly, before anyone can notice or comment, and moments later EDI is calling the all-clear. Garrus resumes his perch on point, and the group trudges through the concealed door.

“A control room,” EDI says, arms flourishing along the amenities. “Power and environmentals for the central chamber, completely independent of the rest of the facility.”

“And windows,” Jack says, hopping onto a low counter before a black pane of glass. “View's shit, though.”

“To be expected, in this neighborhood,” Zaeed replies. “Rent-controlled.”

“Parking's okay,” she says, grinning.

“What are you two, going on tour?” Garrus snaps, exasperated. Jack shrugs.

“Sorry, boss.”

She turns to drop down, and a hand slams into the window where her face had been.

“Fuck!”

She scrambles back, pushing Shepard behind her, as a low furious howl fills the room.

“Fucking _husks_.”

It scuttles across the glass, clawing pointlessly at them.

“EDI,” Garrus says, and she flips a switch somewhere. Overhead floodlights snap on, marching one-by-one down the length of the chamber. The hellish chorus crescendos, and the husk on the window slams its fists into the glass again. Apparently dissatisfied with the effort, it spiders along to one of the supports and ascends, disappearing into the ceiling.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Jack says. “Where are they?”

“The pods,” Thane rasps, pointing. It's difficult to see at first, the floor of the lab some fifteen meters below them, glowing bright white and empty, and the chamber stretches on for half a kilometer, walls and ceiling drawing to a fine, distant point. But Garrus approaches the window slowly and looks down: row upon row of those glass pods, each filled with a shrieking, frenzied husk.

He is suddenly aware of Shepard's silent form at his side, hands locked around the baby.

“You said they put you in one of those?” he says quietly.

“For a millisecond,” she replies. “I started screaming that I was pregnant, and they took me out.”

“They...?”

“Miranda,” she confirms and backs away.

“We still going in?” Jack asks uneasily.

“Other options less appealing,” Mordin says.

The marines gather at the window, gawking, except for Vega, who remains motionless at the door.

“We're going in,” Garrus says with a firm nod.

Jack shrugs and falls back to Shepard's side.

“You got it, boss.”

“Jack, Mordin, Grunt, you stay here with Shepard and the wounded. EDI—”

“No, what?” Shepard says. “We can't split up.”

“We'll just send a team to sweep the room and then follow.”

“No, no, no,” she says, the panic in her voice matched by the baby's rising wail. “We're not splitting up!”

“Shepard, it'll be alright.”

“That's exactly the kind of opening Cerberus will be looking for! I'm not staying up here to get sealed away.”

“My motion sensors cannot reach the far side of the room,” EDI breaks in, gently, “but I can confirm that the first hundred pods have not been breached.”

“We'll go slow,” Tali says, hand on his elbow. “Give you a lead of ten meters?”

Shepard is placated by this, but the baby isn't. He wails through the first thirty minutes, his pure terror compounding the husks' fury, settling a tense cloud over their slow march.

“I've never seen this,” Jacob says, though no one asked. The chamber and its side annexes are ridiculously well-lit, lacking any of the usual wells of shadow that might conceal hostiles. They're empty, too, no bodies, no scattered papers or over-turned chairs, exactly like an office gone to lunch.

“EDI, what's the outside look like?” Garrus asks, sweeping the walls with his scope.

She takes a moment to process, pausing beside a row of neat shelves.

“Their main force appears to have split. Some troopers remain in the courtyard, attempting to enter the building. They will not be successful.”

“Split?”

Shepard whispers into the baby's scalp.

“You're okay. You're okay.”

“They have stationed squads at each exit behind us. A larger force is moving parallel to our position.”

“No doubt to intercept,” Kirrahe says. “They've anticipated our plan, but can't be certain what exit we'll take.”

“Good,” Zaeed says. “Fewer troops means fewer wasted clips.”

“The debris from our earlier bombing and their own detonations is hindering their progress. I do not think—”

Her head whips to the side, unnaturally fast.

“EDI?”

“There is something,” she says, and before they can stop her, she's sprinting into a room on their left. Garrus follows with Thane and Mordin, signaling needlessly for the others to hold position in the main chamber.

“Dammit, EDI!” Garrus pants. “What've we told you about running off like that?”

“My apologizes,” she says. “I have found the central server.”

Before them is a thick bank of computers, glowing red and releasing an unsettling buzz.

“What can you tell us?”

“Nothing. I will need a port for manual connection.”

Thane goes to fetch the others, while Mordin and Garrus help EDI in her search.

“You certain it's a good idea for you to connect to a closed network?”

“This is not an artificial intelligence,” EDI says. “It is simply data storage. Risk is present but minimal.”

On her entrance, Tali easily finds what had eluded them, pulling a cable from the wall as everyone else files in. Shepard has managed to silence the baby with a hummed lullaby.

“What's the plan here?” she asks warily.

“We've done this before,” Garrus says.

“Before?”

“Once.”

She takes a step back.

EDI pulls up her sleeve, exposing a porcelain forearm, and Zaeed volunteers his knife.

“This body is fitted with ports beneath the synthetic dermis,” she says, slicing into her wrist. Tali winces and hands over the cable. EDI plugs in, her palm glowing a faint orange.

“Processing,” she says. “One moment please.”

The buzzing grows louder, like the drone of agitated bees. Warning lights flash up and down the walls.

“Remote download accessed. Shall I proceed?”

“Download of what?”

The wall dissolves in a wave of static.

_“I can get results.”_

_"I'm afraid I'll need more than your guarantee, Miranda.”_

“This bitch again,” Jack says.

Security footage of Miranda and the Illusive Man: they are walking through the central chamber, but not together. She darts around his heels, hands wringing together, dodging the path of a second man, unidentified, who strolls along running a finger across the empty pods.

_“Shepard has shown superior resilience to Reaper indoctrination—”_

_“Four encounters in three years, and each exposure limited to mere hours,”_ the Illusive Man says neutrally.

_“Chandana's team showed signs of indoctrination within two hours of exposure,”_ Miranda replies, a little desperate.

_“One person does not a sample population make,”_ the second man says, a little sing-song. Miranda glares at him, and the camera jumps ahead a few meters. The three figures are pinched into an upper corner, coming to a staggered halt.

_“I came to you for protection,”_ Miranda says to the Illusive Man, voice low. _“To keep my sister away from him.”_

_“Which I was more than happy to provide,”_ he replies, _“free of charge, so long as you remained a useful asset.”_

Her posture is stiff but conciliatory.

_“I couldn't stop Shepard from destroying the base, but I brought her to you.”_

_“For which I am certainly grateful. But revenge won't stop the Reapers.”_

_“She can.”_

_“She'd sooner die,”_ the other man chimes in, _“than work with us.”_

_“There is no_ us _!”_ Miranda snarls.

_“Cerberus is what I say it is,”_ the Illusive Man says, the threat rolling through smooth syllables.

_“Please,”_ Miranda says. _“She's unique. Her experiences, her exposure—there's something about her the Reapers can't touch!"_

_“But you can?”_ the other man says lightly, almost teasing. _“Miri, darling—”_

_“You don't call me that.”_

_“It's the name I gave you, sweetheart.”_

A flicker of feedback gives her the appearance of trembling.

_“Henry has provided evidence,”_ the Illusive Man says, examining a row of monitors. _“His work in psychological conditioning is unparalleled.”_

She's out of arguments, apparently, shoulders falling dejectedly. The other man's hand extends to her arm but doesn't make contact.

_“A friendly competition, perhaps?”_ he says. _“I've always found rivalry a healthy inspiration.”_

_“What terms?”_ Miranda asks hesitantly.

_“Whoever wins, wins Oriana. I haven't been given her location yet, and I'll call off the investigators. I'm perfectly happy to share resources, my dear, and you can keep your prisoner here. Your own lab, even. Macro and micro studies, side-by-side. Whosoever cracks the nut of indoctrination claims the prize, and the other withdraws.”_

_“And I'm supposed to believe you'll just give her up?”_

Henry's face is distorted, stretched ghoulishly wide.

_“That's my girl,”_ he says softly. _“Always thinking you can win.”_

The playback stutters to a stop. Shepard is pale, staring blankly at where Miranda's face had been.

“That's...”

She swallows, and Mordin is at her side, hand hovering over her shoulder.

“I never knew what she was doing. What she wanted. Is...is there anything else?”

“Surveillance, experimental results, unorganized data. I am attempting to pinpoint the source of the husks, and what their purpose might have been.”

“Maybe glance at the security footage from the last few hours?” Zaeed says. “See if we should be expecting company.”

“I am processing your request. One moment.”

“Perhaps now an opportunity for rest,” Mordin says. Vega agrees.

“Might be our last chance, Scars.”

“Yeah, alright. We could use some water, and do a little recon. Bunker down here for a bit.”

Thane passes out the last of the ration bars, Mordin treats wounds, and Tali runs a quick weapons check. Vega sends someone off to find a working faucet. Shepard retreats to a corner with the baby.

“Easy, kid,” she says, wincing as he latches on. Jack helps drape the kimono across Shepard's chest and then resumes her perch on a nearby counter-top.

“I experienced a great deal of tenderness with my first daughter,” Samara announces, sauntering over. “Perhaps I can provide some assistance.”

“I think she's got this,” Jack says with a snort. “Creep along elsewhere.”

Samara turns a cold eye to her, and she shrinks a little.

“Or creep here. Whatever works.”

Zaeed laughs, directing Garrus's attention to the brief confrontation.

“I'm behaving,” Jack says, holding up her hands.

“Every time I turn around,” Garrus sighs.

“So keep your fucking eyes forward!”

EDI twitches, surfacing from her task.

“What's the news?” Zaeed asks.

“I am unable to connect to the extranet. Please try again later.”

She smiles.

“That was a joke.”

“ _Really_?” Shepard says, detaching the baby and rearranging her shirt.

“They're all that bad,” Tali whispers.

“Are we alone for now, at least?” Garrus cuts in.

“I can confirm that this building, and this chamber, are empty of personnel except for ourselves. All internal communications were routed through this network, and it appears that a general evacuation order was issued when our bombing began.”

She displays a series of messages on the wall, each flipping past too quickly to read.

“The staff believed that the attack was sabotage. My perusal of communications revealed a growing suspicion between those working for Henry Lawson and those working for Miranda. When the attack began, Henry evacuated with a copy of the information stored here.”

“Evacuated? Joker, you still there?”

_“Yeah, Garrus. I've got nothing. There was so much shit flying around up here, it's possible a ground shuttle could've made orbit and then jumped.”_

“What information?” Kirrahe asks. “What exactly was being done with the husks? How did Lawson acquire them?”

“They were studying the process of indoctrination, from exposure to full conversion.”

“Conversion?” Garrus repeats, feeling sick.

“Records indicate that the husks contained in this facility were once human.”

“How?” Shepard asks numbly. “How did they make husks?”

“By utilizing samples collected from Horizon, the derelict Reaper, and what could be salvaged of the Collector base. The subjects were at first volunteers, and then culled from recruits, and then sourced from Terminus colonies.”

Kirrahe's eyes narrow in fury.

“Those rumors,” he says. “Sanctuary, Oasis, Haven—we knew there was something off about it all.”

“Alliance, too,” Garrus says grimly. “Said it was outside their jurisdiction, too vague to follow up.”

“What are you talking about?” Shepard asks.

“Sorry, forgot you missed most of it.”

Garrus explains, as concisely as possible, the last six months.

“Council couldn't ignore what we found at the Collector base, but they didn't want to spark a panic. Survivalist groups starting popping up, and we kept seeing rumors of planets, colonies out in the Terminus somewhere, that would go dark and be safe from the Reapers.”

“And Cerberus abducted anyone terrified enough to chase the rumors down.”

Kirrahe turns back to EDI.

“How many husks have they made?”

“Including casualties and incomplete conversions, over one thousand.”

“Fuck,” Zaeed says.

Her numbness solidifies and becomes steel.

“They were trying to replicate indoctrination?” Shepard says.

“Yes and no. Intra-staff communications are unclear on the purpose of the research.”

“Miranda was interested in your resistance to indoctrination,” Garrus says.

“I can prepare a download to my core aboard the Normandy.”

“Do it,” Shepard says with sudden determination. “You said this place has its own power supply?”

EDI nods as Shepard hands the baby to Mordin.

“It seems you and I will never quite escape Virmire,” Kirrahe says with a thin smile.

They call together the techs as EDI tucks herself into a corner, whispering up a connection through her earpiece. It takes almost two hours to create the bomb. Much longer than Garrus had wanted, but the chamber is relatively quiet, and Vega assures him the recon teams have met no resistance.

“This is the ugliest thing I've ever built,” Shepard says with a hint of pride. “Tali?”

“Powering up.”

A spark and hiss—she winces, but the construct blinks to life slowly, overtaking the servers' drone with its own happy hum. Kirrahe takes a step back, grinning.

“Perfect,” he says. “Now the detonator.”

Five omnitools activate, somewhat concurrently, as their owners form a circle.

“Sync on my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark.”

Simultaneously, the jumbled gold glow shifts red and then fades one-by-one: Kasumi, Tali, Kirrahe, Garrus, Shepard.

“We'll all need to authorize it,” Kirrahe says. “But Shepard has the trigger.”

“Don't let the power go to your head,” Jack snorts.

“Oh, it already has,” Shepard assures her.

The bomb is, at last, finished: a sinister octopus of synapse and wire, its lopsided box of a body with two tendrils and two stumps each snaking from the back and front.

“So what's it gonna do?” Zaeed asks, and Shepard is all too happy to answer.

“What doesn't get crushed in the explosion will fry after.”

“How much after?” Grunt asks uneasily.

“We can detonate from orbit,” Garrus says. “We'll leave nothing but craters and dust.”

“Just what these bastards deserve.”

Zaeed directs their attention to EDI, who quickly unfolds herself from the corner.

“I have transferred the necessary data. I can initiate a system purge.”

“Do it,” Shepard says. “I don't want to leave anything they can use.”

The final march is almost jovial compared to the first. EDI's purge must have hit some kind of destruction protocol for the husks: they die slowly, poisoned by air or injection. The quieting chorus of shrieks delivers the group through the far door, past a matched set of labs, and into the perfect mirror of the foyer.

“Creepy,” Jack says.

“Fascinating,” Mordin disagrees. “Architecture symmetrical.”

“I'm with the human,” Grunt says.

“EDI, how's an update?”

Shepard barely looks up to ask, adjusting the blankets around the baby.

“The Cerberus forces have split themselves somewhat equally at each possible exit. I estimate a force of fifty outside this door.”

“Is it another courtyard?” Garrus asks, hoping otherwise.

“No. At least, not anymore. If you recall, the _Normandy_ began bombing from north to south, but the run was forced to stop short of the facility's center. A few direct hits to the end of this building appear to have collapsed the surrounding walls. The debris will make movement difficult, but we will not be bottlenecked as Cerberus was.”

“What about their detonations?”

“I have active turrets at four of the exits, including this one, but the targeting VI is not detailed enough to detect charges. I can approximate their location and attempt to set them off.”

“Nothing risked,” Shepard says with a grim smile, “nothing gained. Joker?”

_“I've looked the map up and down. I need something high, and you need something accessible.”_

“Got anything good?”

_“It's a trek, Garrus. Two kilometers northwest, almost at the wall, there's some kind of empty rooftop. Normandy's not so good for landing right now, and I'll need some distance between her and the surface so the jump doesn't tear us apart, too.”_

“We can manage it,” Shepard says firmly. “Keep quiet, and we'll radio when we're ready.”

_“You got it, Commander.”_

Garrus sets the way-point on his omnitool, as Shepard turns to Jacob.

“Where's Miranda?” she asks. He considers silently.

“Not with any of the ground teams,” he says at last. “If she can't be sure of your position, she's not going to waste time guessing. She's above it somewhere. Rooftop, shuttle, frigate CIC—she's watching. She's not giving you up.”

“Just what I was hoping for,” she says, without a hint of emotion.

Joker's topography update shows them a path to the armory—or one of the armories, at least, looking somewhat intact, a decent midpoint on the final run. Garrus divides them into four slightly uneven teams, but Kasumi is the one to think of decoys: herself, Shepard, and two marines of similar build swap armor pieces and create fake babies out of whatever's available.

“Just this once,” Shepard whispers into her son's scalp. “I'll never ask you to be quiet again.”

EDI keeps a team of two for a guard.

“Open fire simultaneously,” Garrus says. “Team one goes immediately. Grenades, biotics, plasma bursts. Hit them hard, scatter them for team two and the next and the next. We can take fifty. We've done this run before.”

It's too obvious for him to keep close to Shepard, so he puts himself at the end, with Thane, to mop up whatever's left. Jack is, thankfully, less willing to part from the commander, who doesn't question the continued attention. The blast door goes up, and his stomach drops. He imagines every bullet finds its target.

But he's wrong, again. Cerberus radios for backup and shatters the turrets, but team two clears the rubble of their metallic shouting. EDI overloads the systems in leaving, slipping beneath the blast door just as it slams shut.

“My connection to Cerberus security is now severely limited, but I can estimate a thirty percent reduction in their force strength.”

“And they all know where we are.”

“But not, it would seem, where we are going,” Thane says.

It's impossible to keep formation through the rubble—no conveniently carved paths, only ridges of broken steel and shattered concrete. Garrus goes first, clawing up collapsed walls, attention always on what might be following. Thane can be eyes for both of them.

_“I don't like waiting here, Garrus. We're exposed.”_

“I don't know how far back we are, Shepard. I don't like this either.”

_“She could land ahead of us, cut off the route.”_

“Or between us.”

_“We haven't seen anywhere clear enough.”_

He's losing this fight, and his hand slips against some broken glass.

_“Look, Garrus, we're moving on. We're well supplied, and we can clear the way for you.”_

“I am not the objective here.”

_“I know. We have the decoys for a reason. Different routes will throw them off, at least.”_

“Who was just bleating about not splitting up?”

_“This is different!”_ she snaps.

“Why? Because Miranda's out here—so close you can almost taste her blood?”

She is silent for a while.

_“Don't act like you're not thinking the same thing.”_

“I'm not,” he says, helping Samara up and over a wall. “I'm focused. Don't get stupid. This is business, Shepard.”

_“Maybe for you.”_

They reach the armory less than ten minutes later. Empty, of course. Fury takes him, as he smashes an ammo crate with his fist. Thane watches from his perch atop the broken wall.

“Cerberus might be listening,” Samara says, ever calm, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders straight.

“Well, she picked a really fucking inconvenient time to adhere to protocol!”

The marines are unsure how to respond to his mood. Jacob watches quietly as well, no doubt bracing for another beating. Garrus is, if anything, accommodating.

“Where is Miranda?” he snarls. “What does she have? What is her plan?”

“I don't _know_.”

“She won't waste time guessing,” Kasumi says, nervously stepping between them. “Remember? Let the decoys do their work. If we're lucky, she'll count on character, and assume you'd never let Shep out of your sight.”

“I shouldn't have,” Garrus growls, but her hand on his arm is calming, at least. It's uncanny, now that he's looking at her, subtle in the right ways: Kasumi has changed her gait, her bearing, even the tilt of her head beneath the hood. She is the effective embodiment of Shepard, gently cradling her decoy child of thermal clips and grenades.

“Faces covered, she'd have to get too close to tell,” Jacob says. “And they'll have more trouble moving—all that armor, all that equipment.”

“They are farther from us than we are from the extraction point,” Kirrahe adds. They're all staring at Garrus, waiting, and he's suddenly ashamed at his outburst.

So there's nothing for it but to keep moving. His visor's VI provides a helpful countdown to the extraction point, each minute ticking past as ten. Up rubble, down landslides, tripping over exposed beams.

He reminds himself of her safety with each step. Tali, Jack, Mordin, Grunt, and Zaeed, each as dedicated as the last. Still, he listens for careful footsteps, quiet voices, a burst of familiar music.

The clearing sneaks up on them: one of the marines slips, dislodging a collapsed door, and disappears through a hole in the wall.

“I'm alright,” she calls up, coughing. A drop is far preferable to the climb they face on all other sides, so they follow, cautiously, helping each other with a chain of careful hands. Garrus is one of the last, throwing a wary glance to the horizon before sliding down to the gathered group.

By his best guess, it used to be some kind of cafe and street corner: one wall to the west bisected by a counter-top, warped fence poles dotting the perimeter, and the barest of tunnels leading north. Across the street, a building hunches over, bleeding glass into some charred hedges. The ground is coated with a thick layer of dust. Thane signals him over.

“Too many bootprints. And they're fresh.”

“Everyone inside,” Garrus says quietly. “Get behind the counter, quickly.”

He's so stupid for not doing a thermal sweep—as soon as they turn to the cafe, someone opens fire from behind. Garrus throws Jacob over the wall and scrambles after. The two sides exchange fire for nearly an hour, until the sun begins to color the sky a dull pink. All at once, Cerberus stops shooting.

“Let's talk, Garrus,” Miranda says, almost a purr. “We'll come out first. Promise you won't shoot.”

“Not a chance,” Kasumi mutters. But they hold fire on his signal, as Cerberus marches into the street: troopers carrying huge composite shields, engineers with turrets strapped to their backs, lithe red-eyed snipers—thirty or thirty-five in total, forming rigid ranks.

He's too focused on the count to see Miranda coming.

“I have something for you,” she says. “Don't you want to see?”

Garrus stands slowly, unwilling to drop his rifle. Kirrahe and Thane follow him over the wall, and they come to a stop two meters apart. Miranda slithers up from the back, followed by a pair of troopers. Between them, hands bound tight, legs dragging, is Kaidan.

“I'm proposing a simple trade,” Miranda says, but Garrus is barely listening. The field medic within in him is already assessing wounds.

Kaidan looks as expected for someone who recently survived an explosion. His face is sprinkled with small cuts, dried blood almost black against grey skin. He can barely stand, left knee bent further than the right, shoulders sloped sharply upward, elbows in the grip of Cerberus gloves. Breathing labored, slow, wet—collapsed lung, broken ribs maybe, fractures in his knee and ankle. His armor has mostly chipped or melted away, flashes of bruised skin peek through tears in the under-suit. Fresh blood slides down his neck, and he struggles to open his eyes.

“Garrus...”

“She's safe,” he says automatically, swallowing the lie. “They both are.”

“Enough,” Miranda snaps, yanking Kaidan's shoulder back. “I've shown you mine. Now for yours.”

“I'm not seeing the incentive,” Garrus says, careful and low.

“All I want is Shepard. I don't care about you, or him—”

She gives Kaidan's shoulder another sharp tug, and he gasps in pain, lips red, but he's shaking his head. As though there could ever be any question.

“That's not going to happen.”

“Keep the child. I don't _care_ ,” she says, tone wavering. “I'll let you all go. Even EDI. Let the _Normandy_ land, pick you up. All I want is Shepard.”

Jacob suddenly lurches forward, and Garrus almost shoots him on reflex.

“Miri,” he says quietly—intimately, even.

“Don't call me that,” she says with a hardness she can't maintain. His appearance has startled her, and she takes a half-step backward. “Please don't call me that.”

“What are you doing?” Jacob asks, inching up. “Think about it. It doesn't have to end this way. Just surrender.”

“And how'd that work out for you?” she snaps. “I see they've welcomed you back, open arms.”

“We made a mistake. But you can put it right. It's over, Miri.”

“Maybe for you.”

A trickle of music runs through Garrus's earpiece, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to react. A tiny, barely audible warning, the beginning percussion of “Fire in the Courtyard” pounding in time with his heart.

“It doesn't have to end this way,” Jacob says again, desperately.

“Oh, Jacob,” Miranda sighs with a sad little smile. “You always were so naïve. Do you think you're going to be forgiven? Misunderstandings all explained, and they'll let you go? There's no fixing this. You made your choice, and so did I. At least I can stand by it.”

Three minutes left. His eyes focus on Miranda, but he's studying the peripherals with urgency, almost excitement, hands firming his grip on the rifle. Tension closes his throat.

“Where's Shepard hiding?” Miranda asks, physically turning away from Jacob, addressing Garrus. “Doesn't she want to see this? All of this was for her, wasn't it? Shepard!”

She's straining to look over his shoulder, into the shuttered quiet of the cafe.

“Your efforts are pointless,” Thane says. “Your father has already evacuated with the experiment data.”

She's losing control, eyes narrowing in fear. She digs her nails into Kaidan's shoulder.

“He has _nothing_!” she snarls.

“Miranda, you can't win,” Jacob says. “It's already over. Just stop. Surrender.”

“I can't do that, Jacob,” she says, like she knows what's coming. Ten seconds. “I made my choice.”

A wall of blue fire rips her away from Kaidan, scattering the troopers, throwing up a cloud of dust and debris. Grenades, plasma bursts, sprays of bullets rain down from every direction as Garrus dives for Kaidan's motionless body.

Miranda scrambles for her sidearm, but it's too late—Jack's fist slams into her jaw, knocking her back from the melee. She rises to her knees, and Shepard is there, serene, enveloped in a soft blue glow.

She brings the barrel of her pistol to Miranda's head and waits for their eyes to meet.

“It's a boy,” she says, gently indicating the baby curled in her arm. “In case you were wondering.”

She's given no time to accept it, eyes emptying the instant Shepard pulls the trigger. Miranda's body collapses away from them, one limp hand falling wide, almost beckoning to her troops, just as the last is cut down. It is the easiest thing to turn and walk away.

“All clear!” someone shouts.

“Kaidan?” Shepard calls, dropping the pistol, single-minded in her purpose. The baby whimpers, and she pulls him closer, tight against her chest, hardly remembering to breathe.

At first, she can only see Garrus hunched over a jumble of broken armor, but he sits back, hearing her approach, hands tangled in gauze and blood. Kaidan is stretched out, on his back, impossibly still, and there is sudden pain in her knees as she stumbles and drops, heart pounding, but then he opens his eyes.

“A boy?” he repeats, dazed.

“He'll need a name,” Shepard says, grinning. “Reunion later, okay?”

She presses her lips to his, one hand threading through his hair.

“And you think he's mine?”

“Very funny,” she says, standing. “I need you on your feet, soldier.”

“Anything for you.”

Vega is summoned, and together, he and Garrus get Kaidan upright.

“I've got him,” Vega says, and Garrus turns to Shepard.

“We'll fix the tally later,” she says. “But I think I'm up.”

“I doubt it,” he laughs.

“Remind me—how did Omega end?”

“Alright, maybe it's a wash. Let's get a headcount and get out of here.”

They collect the wounded. Grunt has widened the tunnel in the north, and the street beyond looks relatively passable. They're only a few hundred meters from the pickup point.

The final stragglers are headed out as Garrus takes one last look around the field. His gaze falls on Jacob, who has dropped to his knees beside Miranda's body, staring into her still-open eyes.

“We're going,” Garrus says. “Get up.”

“No,” Jacob replies, hollow. “I'm not leaving.”

“We don't have time for this!”

He's already moving to shove Jacob to his feet, but Shepard is suddenly at his elbow, speaking quietly.

“It doesn't matter,” she says. He turns on her, ready to snap, but she looks so drained. “Just go ahead.”

Everything is waiting on her, even the sun, as she forces herself across the plaza, to Jacob's side, where she kneels as well, the baby tucked into the crook of her elbow. Jacob doesn't bother to look, head bent, eyes wet. His hands are fists behind his back, and she can see blood on the edges of the cuffs.

“She didn't want to be this,” he says. Even in death, Miranda is perfect: skin smooth around her eyes, lips shiny red, cheeks still dusted pink. “She just wanted to protect Oriana.”

“I know.”

“I'm sorry,” he says.

With a flick of her omnitool, his bindings fall away, and he rubs his wrists.

“I know,” Shepard says again, smoothing back Miranda's tangled hair. “I am, too.”

He shifts suddenly—she thinks for a moment that he'll go for the abandoned gun, but he crosses Miranda's limp arms over her chest and pulls her body into his lap.

“I should go,” Shepard says, and she does, rising steadily, turning away as Jacob rests his cheek against Miranda's forehead and closes his eyes.

She doesn't look back, Jack and Garrus falling in behind her. She leads the march, not exactly buoyant, but free.

Less than an hour, and the extraction point looms ahead, the back half of an unsteady warehouse, jutting above the debris by a decent sixty meters. They swarm inside, between its columns and collapsed walls.

“Call Joker,” Shepard says. “Tell him we're in position.”

She leaves Garrus to it, winding her way to the back, where Kaidan has been propped against a wall. He's sitting up, but leans his head back, one arm crossed over his stomach. He opens his eyes as she slides down beside him.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey yourself.”

She twists herself out of the improvised cradle, shield disconnecting with a disappointed whine, pulling the baby from the blankets and setting him on her lap. Kaidan reaches with his good arm, fingers gently tracing over their son's brow.

“You missed our date,” he says quietly. “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” she replies. “Think this makes up for it?”

“More than makes up for it.”

Her head drops onto his shoulder, and she turns her face into his neck, too tired to stop herself shaking.

“I missed you so much.”

“I can tell,” he says, and his hand closes over hers. It's over, it's all over, and she breathes deep, drawing in his smell, of sweat and blood and smoke. He nudges her head with his shoulder, drawing her face upward, and it's not just in her mind anymore, it's real, it's really him, his gentle smile and warm eyes, wrinkled a little at the corners, so inescapably happy.

There's nothing particularly passionate about the kiss—they're both cold, lips dry and cracked, angled odd, her nose crushed against his cheek.

“I missed you, too,” he says when they pull apart. “I don't think I'll ever leave your side again.”

“I have no problem with that.”

She's so tired, too, and lets herself feel it, draws it up from her toes, settling around her shoulders like a blanket. Garrus is approaching, expression unreadable as he gazes at them, curled into each other, around the baby. He kneels, checking Kaidan's vitals on his omnitool.

“Joker's making the approach. We're almost home.”

He blames himself for naming it as a powerful blast knocks him sideways. Part of the ceiling crashes down, but Jack throws up a barrier at the last moment, diving into Shepard's side.

“What the fuck was that?” she screams, and the building quakes beneath another explosion.

_“No, no, no!”_

“Joker, what's happening?”

_“It's Cerberus!”_ he says, fury cracking his voice. _“Those frigates—they've marked you!”_

She knows him too well.

“If you drop stealth, they'll mark you, too!”

_“I'm not just going to sit here and watch you burn!”_

But it was only a warning shot: two more impacts and then nothing, just the whisper of settling dust. Shepard sets the baby in Kaidan's lap and stands with the aid of Garrus's offered hand.

“Joker?”

_“There...there's an incoming transmission.”_

“Put it through.”

EDI projects the vid from her omnitool: the Illusive Man, slowly looking up, everything deliberately casual, as though moments before he'd been lost in a book. Shepard doesn't give him the luxury of the first word.

“What do you want?”

_“What I've always wanted, Shepard. To protect humanity.”_

She doesn't reply, just glares.

_“But you're not speaking of abstracts.”_

He flicks ash off the end of his cigarette and takes a long pull.

_“You've cost me an awful lot of time and money.”_

“Revenge? How petty of you.”

_“Hardly. A vengeful spirit is a sign of weakness, Shepard. Strength is found is setting aside one's emotional connection to a situation. Making the logical, detached choice.”_

“Yeah, you sound really fucking detached.”

_“You don't,”_ he says with the ghost of a smirk. _“By the way, Commander, Major Alenko, congratulations on the birth of your son.”_

She moves to the side, blocking Kaidan and the baby from view.

“You don't get to talk to them,” Garrus growls.

_“Ah, Vakarian. I suppose you can share some of the credit for my problems.”_

“Gladly.”

The Illusive Man looks back at Shepard with a thin smile.

_“I can't necessarily fault you for it all. I instructed Miranda to bring you back exactly as you were. I had hoped you might prove more...malleable, but you died hating Cerberus—it stood to reason you would come back hating Cerberus. Even if your reasons were ultimately misguided. I suppose I knew—”_

“Why are you talking to me?”

He's furious at the interruption, but Shepard presses on, talking through what's slowly unraveling in her head.

“You have your data. Miranda's dead. Henry's evacuated. Why are you talking to me? You don't need this base anymore.”

The answer swims up from beneath. Garrus gives a questioning look at her smile.

“I spent months programming that hack. I had to cover everything, make the code as broad as possible.”

_“Your little diversion? It didn't stall the bombers, and it won't—”_

“Henry fucked up, didn't he?”

The Illusive Man has gone absolutely still—she could almost mistake him for a painting.

“He put the data on an open network for transfer. And I got in. He didn't get everything out.”

She speaks dreamily, too sick to laugh.

“Joker, lose this channel.”

“Shepard?”

The holo fizzles out, and Shepard shrugs Garrus's hand off her arm.

“EDI, you purged the system, right?”

“Yes, Shepard.”

_“Commander, what's happening?”_

“I'm not the objective anymore.”

She takes a few steps away, towards the wall, hands covering her face. Everything inside her is screaming.

“Henry must have transferred the data when I was uploading my hack program. Maybe he didn't think of it, maybe he's just an idiot—he uploaded it directly, breaking protocol, taking it off that closed network. I spent _months_ on that program, making sure it would work no matter what, shut down systems, cut off communications. I interrupted his download.”

EDI speaks suddenly.

“My purge of the system was complete. It is, however, probable the other closed networks I detected contain backups. If not, then the AI core aboard the _Normandy_ holds the only remaining copy of the data.”

The Illusive Man's anger is slow in coming, but arrives in a volley of missiles. Shepard stumbles, and then turns back, meeting Garrus's eyes.

“He wanted to distract us. If they haven't figured it out already, they will soon.”

_“So we wait them out,”_ Joker says desperately.

“What they did here, whatever they found, it can't leave this planet. You can't keep stealth forever, and when reinforcements arrive, they'll find the bomb.”

_“We've got time. I can swing in and—”_

“And get destroyed. You said it yourself. Joker, you have to go.”

The certainty of it is almost calming. There is no answering protest, no outcry of fury or disbelief. She activates her omnitool, calling up the detonation sequence, and walks past Garrus, past Tali and Jack and Grunt and the marines and the rest. She can only meet Kirrahe's look, briefly, as she kneels beside Kaidan.

His breathing has slowed—his eyes flutter open and closed.

“You went grey on me,” she whispers, tracing the silver hair speckling his temples. Beneath her fingers, his skin is cold.

“Always knew you'd be the death of me,” he says gently, his gaze finding hers momentarily and then drifting to their son, who shifts and murmurs in his swaddling.

“I'm sorry,” she says, and then louder, turning to the others, “I'm sorry.”

If they're ashamed or surprised by the tears, they at least say nothing, faces grim and set.

“Can think of worse ways to go,” Zaeed half-grunts, knocking a spent thermal clip to the ground.

_“Commander—”_

“Just go, Joker,” she says, hating the tremor in her voice. “You, too, EDI. Go back to the _Normandy_ , and get out of this system. Someone has to tell the Council, tell the Alliance, what happened here. Someone has to stop Cerberus.”

_“Yeah, I left you behind once—it didn't exactly end well for the galaxy.”_

“I, too, am unwilling,” EDI says.

“Please don't argue,” Shepard says and takes EDI's hands in her own. “You have to go. You have to. Henry Lawson's out there, somewhere, and the Illusive Man, and if they find you, if they find the data, he _will_ find a way to use it. Maybe he thinks it will stop the Reapers, maybe he wants to control them—it doesn't matter. Someone has to know. Someone has to stop it.”

“I am unwilling,” EDI says again, and her tone fluctuates, soft to firm. “I understand the logic of your position and agree with it, but I...I do not want to leave you.”

_“Shepard, don't do this,”_ Joker begs, nearly sobbing.

Kirrahe activates his omnitool, then Kasumi and Tali, and Garrus just stares as they draw close. Shepard can't help repeating a promise.

“It's okay, Garrus. It's going to be okay.”

“You're terrible at lying,” he says, and she smiles. They turn as one to EDI, rocking on her heels.

“My core programming will survive the destruction of this unit,” she says. “I will stay. I want to stay.”

Shepard slides back beside Kaidan, taking one of his limp hands into hers.

“I love you.”

He smiles faintly.

“I know.”

She has the trigger and watches the authorization light up, one by one.

“Any last words?” Jack asks.

Shepard stares into her son's eyes, and there is no fear left. She is floating on a current again, free, at peace, prepared, when Vega's shout pulls her under.

“Wait!”

He's standing at the far wall, staring up through a hole in the ceiling.

“Commander, hold detonation!”

“What the fuck's happening?” Jack asks, launching herself across the floor to Vega's side. Shepard cancels the authorization and stands, joining the rush.

A faint halo of debris is visible in the upper atmosphere, streaking across the golden sky.

_“SSV_ Normandy _, be advised: this is the SSV_ Orizaba _, approaching hostile frigates on their nine.”_

“Mom?”

_“We're clear,_ Orizaba _,”_ Joker says with a whoop of joy. _“Take those fuckers out!”_

_“Happy to help, Lieutenant. Now go get my baby girl, and get the hell out of here.”_

A blur of frantic activity shuffles everyone to the roof and onto the _Normandy_ , where a temporary triage is set up in the cargo hold. Shepard watches Garrus disappear into the elevator with Kaidan but is prevented from following by Mordin.

“Better you don't see,” he says gently, and she allows him ten minutes of attention before breaking free. She hands off her authorization to EDI and enters the elevator.

“Light it up,” she says just as the door closes.

She's confused at first, stepping off. The corridors are darker than she remembers and full of unfamiliar faces. She holds the baby to her chest protectively and works her way to the med bay, where Garrus grabs her.

“You can't go in,” he says.

“Garrus—”

“She's operating, Shepard.”

He leads her around to the windows where they watch Chakwas work in silence.

“Let me take him,” Garrus says. “You should sit down.”

So she hands him the baby, and someone brings her a chair.

_“All hands: engaging mass effect core.”_

The jump shudders through the ship, and barely five minutes later Joker appears around the corner, shaking, one arm in EDI's careful grip.

“Commander,” he says, pulling up to a stiff salute. “We're en-route to Arcturus. _Orizaba_ 's keeping to our six.”

She rises slowly and returns the salute. The uncertainty plays across his face for a moment, but he gives a short laugh and throws up his hands.

“Fuck decorum!” he says, wrapping his arms tight around her. “Welcome home, Jane.”

She returns the hug immediately, biting back a sob.

“Thanks, Jeff,” she says into his shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me too. And listen, don't ever leave me like that again!”

He pulls away first, steadying himself on EDI's arm, wiping at his eyes.

“Never again. I promise.”

“Good. It's just been me and EDI on poker night. She cheats!”

EDI frowns.

“That is inaccurate. My statistical subroutines merely assist in assuring my victory.”

“EDI, we've talked about this. You _cheat_.”

“I do not.”

“Hey,” Garrus breaks in. “Isn't there a helm somewhere for you to man?”

“Yeah, yeah, welcome back, asshole.”

Their attention returns to the med bay, briefly, and Joker squeezes Shepard's shoulder.

“We're a couple hours out from the relay. I'll send a message to the medical center. They'll be waiting for us.”

“Commander,” EDI says, “there is an incoming message from the _Orizaba_. Captain Shepard wishes to speak with you.”

“You can take it in my cabin,” Garrus says. “I'll come get you if anything changes.”

She leaves the baby with him, rising to her toes to give them each a kiss on the cheek, and EDI and Joker walk her to the X.O.'s cabin.

“I'm needed up top,” Joker says, pulling EDI back to the door. “We'll patch it through.”

She has just a few seconds to compose herself, smoothing back her hair, scrubbing some color into her cheeks. She tests a smile, but then her mother appears, in grainy orange glow, and a sob splits her open.

_“Oh, baby, hush,”_ Hannah says. _“It's alright. It's alright now.”_

She imagines her mother's frustration at the distance, watching her hands reach almost involuntarily, ghosting over her daughter's arms and shoulders. She cries for twenty minutes, grateful for the release, forcing out syllables.

_“Honey, it's okay,”_ Hannah murmurs, as low and calm as she can manage. _“Listen, we'll see each other real soon.”_

“I have a surprise,” Shepard says, drawing in deep breaths, all her tears rewarding her with hiccups. “You'll like it.”

_“I'm sure, sweetheart. Listen, you tell Garrus and Kaidan and Jeff for me that they're in big trouble.”_

“Why?”

_“I talked to those boys less than a week ago, and they never once mentioned making this little sojourn to pick you up.”_

“Mom, did you kidnap the Fifth Fleet to come help find me?”

She is suspiciously silent.

_“She didn't kidnap anyone. I gave her authorization.”_

Anderson steps into view, and Shepard breaks down again. They calm her with small talk for an hour or so, until Tali enters.

“Chakwas is finished. They're moving Kaidan up to your cabin, to rest.”

_“You should go, sweetheart. We'll see you soon.”_

Hannah blows her a kiss, and the holo winks out. Tali offers her bare hand, but Shepard is hesitant.

“I'm going to be sick for weeks,” Tali says. “Might as well get everything I can out of it.”

So Shepard takes her hand, squeezing her fingers, enjoying the feel of Tali's smooth, cool skin. Garrus is waiting with the baby, at the elevator.

They accompany her up to the loft, where Mordin and Chakwas are waiting.

“He's stabilized, but still sedated,” Chakwas says. “You won't do him any harm in joining.”

Someone takes the baby from Garrus, and cool hands guide Shepard to the bed, where she lies down beside Kaidan. She closes her eyes once and opens them: Garrus and Tali are gone, Chakwas and Mordin in conference by the aquarium. Closes again, and Mordin's sitting at the bedside, checking her vitals, tucking the blanket securely around the baby at her side.

“Sleep, Shepard,” he says, noticing her gaze. “Safe now. Jack standing guard outside. Garrus coordinating with _Orizaba_. Joker and EDI at helm. Tali under care of Chakwas. Sleep.”

He stands to leave, but Shepard's hand snakes out from beneath the blanket and wraps around his.

“Mordin,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

He smiles, squeezing her fingers, and resumes his perch.

“Whole life spent killing,” he says ruefully. “No time to mourn, to stop or let guilt consume. So many lives. Mistakes, accidents, intentions. No children. No legacy. Nothing concrete to point and say, _there, I contribute_. Give back.”

He turns their joined hands over, studying her unfamiliar fingers. The baby stirs but doesn't wake.

“Whole life spent killing,” he says again. “Destroying. Not creating. Grateful, Shepard, for opportunities presented. Would have preferred lab, controlled conditions, professional assistance. Still, glad I was there. Glad you trusted me.”

“Had to be you,” Shepard says through a yawn. Sleep begins to pull her under as she draws Mordin's hand upwards for a small kiss. “Someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

He stands again, releasing her.

“Sleep, Shepard. Will be here, if you need me.”


End file.
